


Only an Angel

by expectingtofly



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angelic Grace Kink (Supernatural), Between Episodes, Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Car Sex, Case Fic, Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond, Castiel's Angelic Grace (Supernatural), Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Coda, Dean Winchester's Soul, First Time, Fluff, Hand Jobs, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Season 1 Sam and Dean, Season 4 Castiel, Season 4 Castiel Meets Season 1 Dean Winchester, Season/Series 01, Season/Series 04, Semi-Public Sex, Time Travel, What Happened Between Season 4 and Season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:53:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 43,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28414206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/expectingtofly/pseuds/expectingtofly
Summary: In 2009, months after rescuing the Righteous Man from Hell, Castiel rebels against Heaven’s plan and chooses to help Dean Winchester. He is immediately killed by the archangel Raphael for his transgressions.But then God brings him back to life—with a catch. Castiel can return to Heaven and ask for forgiveness, or continue to help the Winchesters, alienating himself from the only home he’s ever known. To help him make his decision, God sends Castiel back in time three years ago.Now in 2006, Castiel is faced with gaining the trust of a younger, skeptical, pre-hell Dean. Without the threat of an apocalypse or avenging archangels, Castiel accompanies the Winchesters on a case and wonders if he truly has a place with them, or if he’s only an angel too blinded by his devotion to a human.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 199
Kudos: 422





	1. Resurrected

**Author's Note:**

> Ever since SPN has ended, I've been drawn back to Season 1—when angels and demons were all new to Sam and Dean—and to Season 4, back when Castiel was just beginning _to feel_. Simpler times.
> 
> I love the idea of Cas being around during the early years... so here's this fic!! Complete with time travel, a good old hunt, and Cas being very confused by Dean's strange way of speaking. I hope you enjoy :) 
> 
> thanks to [badritual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/badritual/pseuds/badritual) for looking over my drafts and helping me figure plot stuff out, and thanks to [elephino_forthehalibut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elephino_forthehalibut/pseuds/elephino_forthehalibut) for beta-editing :)
> 
> [Posted every Friday from January 1st-February 5th]

A dizzying pull, a rush of wind, then a lurching halt, and Castiel opened his eyes to darkness. Reaching out to steady himself, he felt something shift and rattle, then a smooth surface that must’ve been a wall. Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he realized a line of light shone by his feet. Feeling around, he found a handle, twisted it, and pushed.

The door he’d found opened abruptly and he stumbled into a motel room. Two boys—no, a young Sam and Dean Winchester—were moving around the room, Dean pulling on a pair of boots, Sam rummaging through a duffel bag as a TV played in the background. They both froze, their eyes snapping to Castiel. For a moment, nobody moved, then in a flash, two guns were pointed at him, cocked with harsh clicks.

Castiel raised his hands. “I think I can explain."

**•** May 14, 2009 **•**

Blinding light, oppressive heat, and an all-mighty force that overwhelmed his senses, filled his being, and ripped through his vessel and grace with a searing pain—

then nothing.

Then a soft whirring noise, gentle clinking. Gradually, Castiel came back to his senses. His feet upon the floor, his back against the ridges of a chair, his hands in his lap.

His eyelids heavy, he opened them to dim light. Everything was bleary for a moment, then he blinked and his surroundings came into focus. A stove, a sink filled with dishes. A kitchen. Looking down, he saw he was sitting at a table littered with books, magazines, and a computer with a glowing white screen. His vessel, intact. The gentle whirring noise, he realized, came from a dishwasher. 

“Wow.”

Startling, Castiel looked to his right to see a man sitting at the other end of the table. _The prophet Chuck,_ he thought. 

“Where am I?” he asked aloud. Sitting up straighter, he felt his chest, his arms. His vessel felt new, his grace pulsing as if exploring his physical limitations. “What happened?” 

To his surprise, Chuck laughed a little, as if to himself. “You know,” he mused, looking down at a quarter-filled beer bottle in his hand, “this story is _not_ going how I thought it would. But...” He gestured towards Castiel with the bottle. “It is interesting, I’ll give you that. Definitely surprising—and I’m very rarely surprised.” Draining the bottle, he set it down on the table next to three others with a soft thunk.

Castiel only stared at him, trying to remember how he’d gotten here. Dean, he had been with Dean. Zachariah had locked Dean away so that Sam could unknowingly break the last seal and release Lucifer from the Cage, starting the Apocalypse. Dean had implored Castiel to help and in a split-second decision, Castiel had rebelled—banished Zachariah and rescued Dean from his prison. They had fled here, but Raphael had chased them down, and Castiel had sent Dean away to protect him—

Starting to rise, Castiel asked, “Where’s Dean? Is he alright?”

Chuck waved his hand and a sudden force pushed Castiel down to sit. He tried to move, but found himself stuck in the chair. “How are you doing that?” he asked, gaping at Chuck.

With a smile, Chuck gestured to himself. “You don’t recognize your old man?” 

Suddenly, as if a veil had been lifted, Castiel could see the blinding light, the true form enclosed within and surrounding Chuck’s skin. Quickly, he looked away, lifting an arm to shield his eyes. “God?” he whispered, though he didn’t know why he asked. It was as plain as day now; God’s true identity stunning in its brilliance.

The light lessened and Castiel lowered his arm. Chuck— _no, God_ —grinned. “The one and only. You don’t know how annoying it’s been to keep this a secret. To hide in plain sight on Earth, to pretend to be some ignorant prophet.” He tugged on his sleeves. “Not a bad persona, all things considered. I think I played the part pretty well. You can keep calling me Chuck; I kinda like the name now, less lofty.”

All this time, for God to be right in front of his face… “But you—but why?”

“Why what?” Chuck asked. “Leave? Take on a physical body?” Castiel nodded. “Why not? Heaven… it got too crowded. Too noisy. Too many angels always vying for my attention.” Raising his voice to a higher pitch, he mocked, “‘Oh, Heavenly Father, show us your will.’ Not to mention all the prayers, ugh.” He stared off into the distance, then shook his head. “But that’s not what we’re here to talk about. You, Castiel, should be dead. Actually, you did die.”

Castiel remembered suddenly the pain tearing through his grace. “Raphael smote me?”

“More like obliterated. Destroyed your vessel and everything. And I was gonna let you stay dead, but then I thought… Let's see what happens.” Leaning forward, he crossed his arms on the table. “The Winchesters trust you. The angels hate you. I'll admit, it's a pretty compelling narrative, though you _are_ actively defying me. An angel falls for humanity. I'm kinda curious to see how it goes.”

He gestured to Castiel. “So, you’re back! Better than ever with your own vessel. Jimmy, he’s in Heaven now. I thought he’d had enough torture for a lifetime, sharing his body with an angel.” Leaning back in his chair, he clasped his hands in his lap and smiled at Castiel, as if awaiting his thanks.

“Thank you,” Castiel said slowly, his mind reeling with the onslaught of information.

“No problem.”

So the angels had killed him for his disobedience. Stowing away that revelation to process later, he focused on why he’d been killed in the first place—for trying to prevent the release of Lucifer from the Cage. “How long was I dead? Where are the Winchesters? Are they alright?”

With a sigh, Chuck got to his feet. “You and the Winchesters. Listen, Cas—can I call you Cas?” He didn’t wait for a response as he paced around the kitchen. “I know the angels can be… intense. A little bit neurotic. But you have to admit, this plan to have the Winchesters battle it out, like Cain and Abel, as Lucifer and Michael—I mean, it’s poetic. It’s cyclical, it’s exciting. And I’m not just saying that because I wrote the story.”

Castiel glanced at the computer he gestured to. The screen, in black letters read, _Supernatural: Lucifer Rising_ _by Carver Edlund._ So here was the plan—the narrative—the other angels always spoke of, indeed created by God himself.

"It is... exciting," Castiel said, if only because he had enough presence of mind to avoid criticizing God's story to His face. “Do the other angels know that you have returned?” Heaven would be thrown into chaos at the news.

But Chuck sighed exasperatedly and leaned against the kitchen counter. “No, and it’s gonna stay that way. You’re not going to remember that I’m God after I let you go. And I will let you go. But first you have an important decision to make. Helping the Winchesters just got you killed. That’s gotta hurt. But I’m willing to give you a second chance to keep following Heaven’s plan, because, you know,” he gestured to himself, “merciful God and all. Repent of your disobedience and rejoin the angels, and I’ll make it so Raphael remembers coming here and bringing you back to Heaven's side instead of killing you.”

“But what about the Winchesters?”

Chuck rolled his eyes. “Thought you’d say that. Sure, yeah, you can keep helping the Winchesters. Make a mysterious, miraculous resurrection, join Sam and Dean, and become number one on Heaven’s hit list. If that’s your choice, I’ll allow it, if only because the world has been so boring lately and I need something new and interesting to watch.”

Return to Heaven, to the divine plan, or help the Winchesters. Castiel started to answer and Chuck cut him off, 

“Nuh, uh, uh. Before you decide whose side you’re on, I think you need to see who you’re so willing to help. You need to learn who the Winchesters really are. I’ll bring you back when I think you’ve learned enough, when I think you’re ready to make your decision. Don’t worry, the Winchesters won’t remember any of this little experiment.”

“Wait, what does that mean—?” 

Chuck snapped his fingers and Castiel’s words were cut off as he was swept back in time.

**•** May 14, 2006 **•**

People laughed and cheered low on the TV as Sam and Dean stared Castiel down, guns aimed at him. Castiel kept his hands raised, trying to make sense of what he was doing here. One moment he’d been sitting in Chuck’s kitchen, the next… 

“You better start talking or I’ll shoot,” Dean threatened. He’d jumped to his feet when Castiel appeared and now he took a step forward. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m, I’m Castiel.” He had been sent to the past—that much was evident—but to when, exactly? He scanned the room for any clue, his gaze falling on Dean again. Not so much younger than the Dean he knew in the future.

“And?” Dean pressed. “What the fuck were you doing in our closet?”

Castiel glanced back at the room he’d stumbled out of. It was indeed a shallow closet. “I don’t know,” he admitted, turning back to Sam and Dean. “What year is it?”

“2006,” Sam answered, confusion evident on his face as he readjusted his grip on his gun. 

Castiel nodded slowly. “So, this is the experiment," he thought aloud. "He sent me back in time… I didn’t expect…” Sam and Dean were still pointing guns at him and he realized he needed to start over. In 2006, the Winchesters had no idea who he was, or even that angels existed. 

Straightening his shoulders, he announced, “I’m an Angel of the Lord.” _The one who will grip you tight and raise you from perdition_ , he thought, looking at Dean.

Dean scoffed. “Bullshit. There’s no such things as angels. You a demon? Because we know a thing or two about you sonsuvbitches.”

“No, I assure you, I’m not a demon. I’m an angel from the future.” Sam seemed a little less hostile, more shocked, so Castiel turned his attention to him. “I know all about you two. You’re the Winchesters. You’re hunters.”

“Sam, grab the holy water,” Dean told his brother. He kept his gun trained on Castiel as Sam opened his duffel bag. “How long have you been creeping in our closet, you pervert?”

“I only just arrived.” His words were cut off as Sam splashed water onto him from a flask. Spluttering, he wiped his face with his sleeve. “And I’m not a pervert.”

“Or a demon,” Sam said, looking a little surprised. “Hold out your arm.”

Castiel did so and watched as Sam drew a blade across his forearm. Red blood dripped down to his wrist. His body still looked like Jimmy Novak’s, though he could tell Jimmy was no longer sharing this vessel. No human soul tucked away behind his own angelic presence. 

“You’re human,” Sam said, more as a question than a statement. He and Dean exchanged a look and Castiel sighed. 

“No, not human. Perhaps it’s best if I show you.” Summoning his strength, he allowed his grace to rise and threaten to breach his physical form. The lights in the room flickered, then shattered. The TV fritzed. Dean fired three times in a row. The bullets sunk into Castiel’s chest and he fixed Dean with a look. So, this Dean had similar instincts to his future self.

Dean’s eyes widened, realizing the bullets hadn’t had any effect. Lifting his wings, Castiel let their shadows enter the earthly plane. For good measure, he summoned a crack of lightning outside, startling Sam and Dean. In the cramped motel room, the effect was less striking than it had been in that barn where he first appeared to Dean, but the Winchesters looked stunned enough. 

A moment longer to let his wings hover, then Castiel folded them back into invisibility. With a snap of his fingers, the lightbulbs mended themselves and turned back on.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean whispered.

Sam had since lowered his gun, and he stared now at Castiel with a mixture of fear and awe. “You’re really an angel,” he said in a hushed tone. Abruptly turning to Dean, he exclaimed, “I told you angels existed!” 

Castiel smiled a little. He remembered well Sam’s excitement upon first meeting him. “My name is Castiel,” he said. “I’m an angel from the year 2009, and God has sent me back to this time.”

“Hold on,” Dean interrupted. He’d shrunk back when Castiel shattered the lightbulbs, but he straightened to his full height now, keeping his gun pointed at Castiel. “First you’re telling us you’re an angel, now you’re telling us God exists too? _And_ you’re from the future?”

“I know it’s a lot to take in all at once,” Castiel said. “I’m a bit surprised myself. I didn’t expect to come to the past.”

“Why _are_ you here?” Sam asked.

“I… well.” Chuck had been pretty vague about that part. “I believe God wants me to learn about you two. To know you better. See, in the future, we’re...” _Friends, allies?_ “Acquaintances,” he settled on.

Dean shook his head, staring Castiel down. “We’re ‘acquaintances’ with an angel? With you? I don’t buy it. If you really know us, if you’re really from the future, tell us something only we would know.”

“Well, um...” Castiel racked his brain for what he did know about the Winchesters that he hadn’t learned from the briefings his superiors gave in Heaven. “You drive a car called a Chevy Impala, you and Sam hustle pool for money and use fraudulent credit cards.” He noticed Sam and Dean glance at each other at that. “Sam went to college—oh.” Castiel turned to Sam. “You’re having visions, premonitions.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “We never told anyone about that,” he started. 

“What the fuck is this about?” Dean interrupted, taking a step closer to Castiel. “How the hell do you know that?”

“I told you, Dean. I’m from the future.”

“Okay, and why are angels trying to make contact with us now, huh?”

“Not _angels,_ just me. And I didn’t intend to come here either. God, he’s been absent for a long time now, but he just now revealed himself to me. he’d been disguising himself as a prophet all along, apparently, which explains why I didn’t realize it was him, and then he resurrected me, sent me here.” _Learn who the Winchesters really are.“_ To learn whether I should align with you,” he realized aloud. “Whether you’re worth giving up Heaven for.” 

Sam and Dean stared at him blankly and he realized he was losing them. “What I mean, is, I’m stuck here.” He could feel it, could feel the restraints put on him to stop him from traveling back to his own time. “I can’t leave until God decides I’m ready.”

“So, this is some kind of punishment?” Dean asked. “It turns out God knows who we are, and instead of sending us some divine intervention, we get some low-class, disobedient angel?”

Castiel bristled. If Dean only knew how he had sacrificed his life for him in the future... “I am a captain of an angelic garrison, Dean." Well, _was_ a captain, but Dean didn't need to know that _._ "You should show me some respect.”

He held Dean’s gaze and was utterly surprised when Dean smirked. “Does that line usually work for you?”

“Dean,” Sam warned. 

“What’s he gonna do? Smite me?” Dean held Castiel’s gaze. “Apparently we’re all buddies in the future. He ain’t gonna hurt me, right, Cas?”

_Cas._ Castiel felt his jaw tighten, but he answered, “No. I won’t hurt you. I promise I mean neither of you any harm.”

By Dean’s baleful expression, Castiel’s reassurances weren’t winning over his trust. Sighing, Castiel lifted his hand to heal his skin and fix his shirt that had been singed when Dean shot him. This was absurd—what could he possibly learn by being thrown into the past? He needed to be in the future. The gates to Hell might have opened, Dean might be hurt, or Sam. He didn’t have time to be wasting here, learning whatever obscure lesson God wanted him to learn. 

The bullets fell out of his chest to the carpeted floor and he picked them up, turning them between his fingers. “Bullets like these won’t work on a demon,” he commented. “Or an angel, as I’m sure you’ve realized.” Looking up, he realized Sam and Dean were watching him with shock, presumably from the show of his powers. 

Dean was the first to recover. “Really? Would’ve never guessed,” he said in a tone dripping with sarcasm.

Sam shot Dean a withering look. “Um, so, Castiel, right?” he asked. Pulling his eyes from Dean, Castiel nodded. “Angels and God exist? They know about us? I mean, you guys watch us?”

“Yes. We keep a close eye on all of Earth—”

“Oh, so, a bunch of voyeurs,” Dean said, drawing Castiel’s attention. “You guys get off on watching us suffer down here? Can’t be bothered to fly down and help out every once in a while? You know demons are kinda running the show right now.”

Why didn’t the angels ever help—It was a complaint Castiel had often had while observing life on Earth, though he’d never dared voice it until he met Dean. His Dean. Well, not _his_ Dean per se, but Dean from 2009.

That was too much to explain at the moment, so he tried for the detached statement his superiors often gave. “I understand your apprehension, but I’m afraid the angels prefer a more hands-off approach. We do step in when necessary, though. In approximately three years, for example.”

“We’re honored, really, that you’ve come here," Sam said, with a pointed look at Dean. "We’re just a little shocked, you know? I can’t believe it. I mean, I always thought angels existed, hoped they did. I’ve prayed to God—does he hear me? Or do the angels hear me?”

“God is… I’m afraid he’s taken a leave of absence at the moment.” To put it nicely. Sam’s face fell and Castiel hastened to say, “But the angels hear your prayers, hear everyone’s prayers. That used to be my role, actually. I observed humans and listened to them.”

“And, what?” Dean spoke up. “Now you time travel and jump out of people’s closets?”

“No. But certain… complications in the future have led to me coming here.”

“What complications?” Dean asked. He’d lowered his gun, though he still clenched it in his hand. “What’s going on in the future? Why do we know you?”

Castiel cocked his head, considering. What could he say? God would erase the Winchesters’ memories, so he _could_ tell them anything and everything. But who knew how Sam and Dean would react to learning about the future apocalypse, about Sam’s addiction to demon blood or Dean’s time in Hell.

“There is a lot going on at the moment,” he answered carefully. “Currently, Heaven is preparing for a…” _War? Apocalypse?_ What could he possibly say that wouldn’t result in Dean growing hostile again? “An important event that has been foretold for ages, and in which you and Sam play important roles.” That is, if everything went according to Heaven’s plans.

“ _An important event_?” Dean asked. “You wanna be any more vague?”

“I’m sorry, Dean.” Castiel tried to mollify him, “I wish I could tell you more, but I don’t believe it would be wise. Rest assured, it’s nothing you have to worry about at the moment.”

Swearing under his breath, Dean crossed his arms and looked at Sam. “This is fucking ridiculous.”

Sam gestured to the motel door. “We need to talk.” 

“I’m not leaving him in here alone!”

“It wouldn’t do any good anyway,” Castiel spoke up. “I would be able to hear you even if you spoke outside.”

“Oh, great.” Dean gave Sam a look. “Now we can never get any privacy.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Castiel tried, but Dean only glared at him, fingers still gripping his gun. 

"The holy water didn't work on him," Sam said quietly to Dean. "The silver didn't do anything."

"And? What if he's some monster we've never met before?"

"Yeah, exactly." Sam gestured to Castiel. "Like an angel."

Setting the bullets down on the table next to him, Castiel sat in one of the chairs and watched them argue in hushed tones. “Unfortunately," he spoke up, drawing their attention, "it seems we have no choice but to make the best of these circumstances. As I’ve said. I mean you no harm. In fact, in the future, you two trust me.” Or were beginning to, at least.

He dropped his hands on his lap. “It seems I am stuck here for the moment beyond my control. What were you two doing before I intruded? Oh.” He snapped his fingers and the TV turned back on. “Sorry about that.”

“Um, well,” Sam glanced at Dean. “We were about to get breakfast, then go talk to the wife of a man who died recently. We’re working a case right now.”

“Feel free to proceed as normal,” Castiel said. “I’ll go with you.”

Sam and Dean exchanged a look. “Yeah, I don’t think so,” Dean said. “We’re good.”

“Dean, please,” Castiel said, beginning to lose his patience. “This is as unsettling for me as it is for you. I promise, I am who I say I am. Try to have faith.” 

“ _Faith?_ You jumped out of our closet five minutes ago! And now I’m supposed to suddenly believe God sent you?”

“Dean,” Sam warned. Dean turned his glare on him. “Like he said, he’s not going anywhere. He’s not a demon or a shapeshifter or a skinwalker. At least if he comes with us, we can keep an eye on him.” He glanced at Castiel. “No offense.”

Castiel raised his hands. “None taken. Sam is right, Dean.” 

“Fuck this,” Dean muttered, then, “Fine.” He jabbed his finger at Castiel. “But if you try anything at all, I will shoot you.”

“Noted,” Castiel said, refraining from reminding Dean that bullets were useless against him. 

Snatching a leather jacket from the back of a chair, Dean stormed outside. Sam sighed. “Sorry about,” he gestured to the door and let his hand drop to his side, “all that. I believe you, for the record. I’ve never heard of any monster that can do whatever you did with the wings and the lights, and you’re right. I’ve been having these awful visions and no one else knows except for Dean. It’s just a lot to take in, meeting an angel and all."

“I understand,” Castiel said, getting to his feet. “I appreciate your trust.” 

He followed Sam outside to the motel parking lot where Dean was unlocking the driver’s door of the Impala. “What is this case that you're working on?” he ventured. “Did someone die?”

Dean scoffed and Sam answered, “Someone died two nights ago in his bed. From electrocution, but there weren’t any cables or wires near him, nothing to cause it. We’re guessing ghost.”

Sliding into the back seat, Castiel touched the smooth leather; he’d only had the opportunity to ride in this car once before. 

“We have to talk to the man’s wife,” Sam continued, “see if anyone died recently in the family, someone who could’ve become a vengeful ghost.”

“I see.” He wanted to offer his help, but he thought he knew what Dean’s response would be. Anger, most likely, directed at Castiel for wanting to help now when his and Sam’s lives had been noticeably void of any angelic help before. So he refrained from offering.

Starting the car, Dean pulled out of the parking lot and the thrum of wheels on asphalt filled the air. “Should we call Dad?” Sam asked Dean quietly. 

“I don’t know,” Dean said, eyes flitting to Castiel in the rearview mirror.

“If it will help you feel better, please do,” Castiel spoke up. “Or call Bobby. I believe he was instrumental in getting you to trust me the last time we met.”

“You know about Bobby?”

Castiel refrained from repeating that he was from the future. “Yes, Dean. In the future, I appeared to both you and Bobby after I…” _Pulled you from hell. Tried to speak to you in my true form and frightened you._ “Saved your life.”

“You saved Dean’s life?” Sam asked, turning in his seat to look at him. 

“Don’t believe a word he says, Sammy.” Dean glowered at Castiel. “He could be lying.”

“I demonstrated my abilities, showed you as much of my wings as I could,” Castiel said. “I don’t know how much more I can prove.” He was getting frustrated, though he knew he shouldn’t. It was in Sam and Dean’s job description to remain vigilant, wary of threats.

But he wasn't a threat. In fact, he prided himself on his compassion, his understanding. The other angels, they didn't understand Sam and Dean at all. It seemed Dean saw this too in the future, saw that Castiel could help, that he was different from the others.

Searching for some way to communicate this and appease Dean, he said, “You were wary in the future too, but you came around to believing me. And we have grown closer since we first met. I’ve learned things about you two. For example, Dean, this car is your most prized possession and you still drive it in the future.”

“Of fucking course I do,” Dean muttered.

“Sam, you went to Stanford and wanted to study law. Um, Dean, you listen to something called classic rock, and you have many scars, including one on the inside of your right knee, a crooked line. I’m not sure how you got it—”

“How the hell do you know that?” Dean demanded, eyes fierce in the rearview mirror.

“In the future, I become very intimate with your body.” 

The car swerved sharply as Dean turned around to look at him, and Sam’s eyes went wide, and Castiel realized what he was implying. “No, not like that,” he said quickly. “I only meant, I’ve healed you.” _Rebuilt your body, knitted it together._ “I healed your scars, so I know about them. Not… anything else.”

“This keeps getting fucking weirder and weirder,” Dean gritted out, staring back at the road, gripping the steering wheel. Sam looked mildly amused and Dean glared at him. “Shove it.”

Silence fell on the car and Castiel shifted in his seat. “I’ve made things uncomfortable,” he observed.

“Yeah, you think?” Dean eyed him again in the rearview mirror. “We crossed that line a long time ago, Feathers.” 

That was a new nickname. Castiel held his gaze until Dean looked away. He was used to Dean watching him, as if trying to figure him out. And he often found himself doing the same thing in the future, studying Dean’s soul. But—he realized with a start—something was different about it now. 

Frowning, he leaned forward, staring at Dean’s soul. Completely unmarred from Hell. Even more jarring, something missing. Not in Dean, but between them. In the future, he felt a… connection with Dean’s soul, like a magnet for his grace, tempting him to touch the pure essence once again. He hadn’t even realized how strong a connection until now. 

“What?” Dean asked harshly, and Castiel blinked, drawn back to the present.

“Nothing. It’s… nothing.” Pulling his eyes from Dean’s soul, he stared out the window. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam and Dean glance at each other and Dean mouth, _What the fuck?_

Castiel was wondering something similar. He supposed he should’ve expected this; the Dean in front of him wasn’t the same Dean he knew. Rescuing Dean from Hell, touching his soul—the experience had forged a bond between them. He knew that, could feel the way his grace always reached towards Dean’s soul in the future as if part of itself resided there. But of course this bond didn’t exist in the past. 

It was a loss which surprised him and which he tried to ignore now as Dean pulled into the parking lot of a diner. Just another reason why he needed to return to the future and to the Dean he knew.

“This is so stupid,” Dean muttered as he parked the car. “We’re supposed to just carry on like normal?”

“What else can we do?” Sam asked, opening his door.

Testing his wings, Castiel flew to the sidewalk outside the car and Sam startled, falling back onto his seat. So, Castiel realized with relief, he could fly within space, just not within time.

“The fuck?” Dean asked, getting out of the car and staring at him. “How’d you…?”

“I used my wings,” Castiel said. 

“Oh. Of course.” Dean slammed his car door and gave Sam a pointed look. “His wings. Because he’s an angel, apparently.”

Sam gave Castiel an apologetic look as they followed Dean inside the diner. He and Dean crammed into one side of a booth and Castiel sat on the opposite side. Frowning, he looked down at the menu the waitress set in front of him. What would his fellow angels say if they saw him now, partaking in human activities? He realized he couldn’t hear their voices in his head. God must have silenced his connection to their constant telepathic communication.

“If you don’t have any money, we can pay for your breakfast,” Sam said, mistaking his frown for a lack of money. Dean elbowed him hard in the side and Sam shoved him. 

“Thank you,” Castiel said, pushing the menu aside. “But I don’t eat.”

“Good, because we’re not wasting our money on an angel,” Dean said, flipping through his menu. Then he lowered it to look at Castiel. “Wait, if angels don’t eat, does this mean there’s no food in Heaven? Please tell me Heaven isn’t some floating on clouds shit.”

“It’s not. It looks very similar to Earth, actually, though more peaceful. I think you two will enjoy it when you arrive. Hopefully not for many years still.” Judging by the Winchesters’ track record, he was being overly optimistic.

“Hope so,” Dean said under his breath, scanning the menu again.

“Do all angels look like you?” Sam asked. “I mean, the suit and everything?”

“Oh, no.” Castiel looked down at his clothing. He hadn’t paid much attention to them when he first possessed Jimmy. They _were_ a bit formal. “This is just a vessel. My true form is approximately the size of your Chrysler building.”

“Shit,” Dean said. He looked at Castiel with something like wonder in his eyes, something similar to his expression in the future when Castiel first appeared to him in physical form, and Castiel warmed a little under his gaze.

Then Dean frowned. “Wait, a vessel? That means you’re possessing some poor bastard?” Sam’s eyes widened as he stared at Castiel. “Still think angels are so great, Sammy?” 

“It’s not like that,” Castiel said quickly. He should have realized how this conversation would go; he’d lived this before. “I was possessing a man named Jimmy because he prayed for years to be of service and gave his consent. But my vessel was destroyed recently. This is no longer Jimmy’s. It’s just a duplicate, I suppose, that God rebuilt and allowed my grace to fill. Possessions, vessels, it’s a complicated process. Finding a human vessel durable enough to contain me, it’s not easy.”

At that, Dean’s mouth twitched like he was trying to hide a smile. “I have that same problem with women.”

Sam groaned and Castiel cocked his head. “I don’t—” He was interrupted by the waitress coming over to take their orders. 

When she left, Sam pulled a manila folder out of a worn leather bag and opened it, rifling through the pages. “So, we started working this case yesterday," he told Castiel. "We went to the morgue and got the official report of the victim's death from the coroner.” He read from one page, “Robert Rodriguez, severe damage to the heart, burn marks on chest, cause of death: electrocution. The only thing is…” He turned the paper around. “The marks are sorta in the shape of a handprint.” 

Castiel peered at a photo paper-clipped to the page. Raised red marks on pale skin, five smaller marks for fingerprints and a large splotch for a palm.

“Ghost probably zapped him there,” Dean said. “Stopped his heart.”

Nodding, Sam retrieved a tattered journal and laid it on the table. Castiel leaned forward to look at the pages. Tight, dark handwriting, illustrations and sketches, news articles and other miscellaneous papers clipped and taped to the pages. “Dad killed a werewolf not far from here three years ago,” Sam said, flipping through the pages. “No mention of vengeful ghosts or poltergeists.” 

“Wish we were hunting a werewolf,” Dean said, balling up a straw wrapper. “We always get salt and burns.”

“Whose journal is this?” Castiel asked. 

“Our dad’s,” Sam said. “He left it behind, I guess to answer any questions we might have.” He glanced at Dean and added, more quietly, “He could just stick around for once, but—”

“Will you shut the fuck up about that?”

Castiel startled and looked at Dean, who tossed the wrapper aside and glared at Sam.

“Your father is hunting the demon that killed your mother, isn’t he?” Castiel asked, trying to break the uncomfortable tension.

Dean glanced at him. “Yeah, he is.” He added, with a pointed look at Sam, “ _That’s_ why he’s not here.”

“You know, you’re right, Dean,” Sam said, snapping the journal shut. “Why _are_ we here hunting ghosts when the demon is still out there?”

“Don’t fucking start that again—”

“You’re the one who started it!”

“Will you shut up? We got a freaking angel of the Lord here.”

“It’s alright,” Castiel tried. 

“You’re impossible,” Sam muttered, crossing his arms and looking out over the diner. 

Dean huffed and met Castiel’s eyes, but didn’t say anything. The tense silence between them continued until the waitress brought over Sam and Dean's food. Castiel glanced over his shoulder as a bell jingled, signaling a group of people coming in through the diner’s doors.

“It true?” Dean asked, pulling his attention. “Every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings?”

“No,” Castiel saId slowly, wondering where Dean had read that lore. “Why would a bell determine the true form of an angel?”

“Sheesh,” Dean muttered, glancing at Sam, who seemed more interested in unraveling the napkin wrapped around his silverware than engaging with Dean. Rolling his eyes, Dean picked up his fork and asked, “So, Cas, how often do you come to Earth and freak out humans?”

It hadn’t slipped Castiel’s attention that Dean was already calling him by the same nickname his future self used for him. It was strangely endearing. No one besides his angelic siblings had ever called him by a nickname before Dean. “Not often,” he answered, ignoring the ‘freak out humans’ bit. “In the future, my interactions with you and Sam were my first interactions with any humans in over a century.”

“Then when’d you start watching us?”

“Oh, no, I didn’t. I didn’t know about you and Sam until fairly recently.”

“Really? You haven’t been spying on Sam in the shower all this time? It’s okay, you can admit it.”

“Dean, come on,” Sam spoke up. 

“What?”

“Why can’t you take anything seriously?”

Dean gestured to Castiel. “You’re the one who said we should bring him along. He asked me to believe he’s a fucking angel who ‘means us no harm.’ I’m just trying to make conversation.”

“Oh my god,” Sam muttered, then his eyes widened. “Sorry, Castiel, I didn’t mean to take the Lord’s name in vain.”

“You’re embarrassing yourself,” Dean said and Sam kicked his leg under the table. 

“It’s alright, Sam,” Castiel said. “I understand what you mean. And to answer your question, no, Dean, I try to respect humans’ privacy.” He clasped his hands on the table. “Any other questions? I am happy to answer them.”

“Yeah, I got one.” Dean pointed with his fork at Castiel. “Back at the motel, you said God resurrected you. What’s that mean?”

Castiel shrugged. “I died and God brought me back to life.”

“Yeah, but what the fuck? How?”

“How did I die? Simply put, I got on the wrong side of an archangel.”

“Archangel?” Sam asked. “Like Michael?”

“How the fuck do you know this shit?” Dean interrupted. 

Sam rolled his eyes. “This is just basic lore.”

“Nerd,” Dean muttered.

“Like Michael,” Castiel said, “though this one’s name was Raphael.”

“How’d you get on his bad side?” Dean asked.

“I was helping you.”

“Me?” Dean pointed to himself. “ _I_ got you killed?”

“No,” Castiel hastened to say, not wanting Dean to take the blame. “Well, in a way, yes. But it was my own decision. I knew what the consequences of my actions would be.” That was true, but he certainly hadn’t expected to die so soon. “And, in any case, God brought me back, so everything turned out alright.”

At least, he hoped so. He still didn’t know how Sam and Dean had fared against Lilith. Lucifer might be running free in the future as he spoke.

“Well, if we trust you in the future, and you were willing to die for us, that’s good enough for us,” Sam said, with a pointed look at Dean. 

“Speak for yourself,” Dean muttered, though the look he cast on Castiel seemed less judgmental than before. More curious, perhaps, as if wondering what his future self saw in Castiel.

Castiel often wondered the same thing himself. Perhaps it was a result of the connection he’d created, wrapping his grace around Dean’s soul in Hell. Though he wasn’t sure if Dean was even aware of their bond. Sometimes there was a look in his eyes, a certain intensity, and Castiel wondered… But Dean was human; he had no concept of his own soul, of its pull. If Dean felt drawn to him at all, it was only subconsciously. 

And this Dean, Castiel thought, watching as he stabbed at the eggs on his plate, wouldn’t feel anything at all, consciously or not. That might make all the difference in whether he would ever come around and trust him.

Glancing up, Dean’s eyes met his, bright and clear in the early morning sunlight streaming through the window. “You wanna take a picture? It’ll last longer.”

“No, I—” 

Dean gestured to the ceiling. “You, the angels, God, you’ve all just been watching and listening in all this time?” Castiel nodded. “You guys really don’t give a fuck, huh? Just watching our pathetic lives and laughing at us from up in the clouds.”

Castiel sighed. He thought he and Dean had been making progress. “Dean, trust me, I understand how it sounds. But I think you’ll find that the alternative is often worse. When the angels become too involved, they tend to take too much control. As for God’s absence, I won’t pretend to understand him, I’m sure he has his reasons—”

“If you say he works in mysterious ways, so help me I will kick your ass.”

Sam closed his eyes for a long moment like he was summoning his patience, and Castiel blinked at the deja vu.

“My point is,” he answered, gathering himself, “there are some things that are beyond your understanding at the moment. Trust me, you will understand better in the future.”

Dean scoffed. “Sure. But this ain’t the future, and right now none of this is making any sense, so I don’t give a shit about what future me understands or doesn’t understand.”

Resigned, Castiel nodded. “That is justified, I suppose.” Foolish, but justified. 

Trying to avoid staring and invoking Dean’s ire again, he glanced around the diner. Maybe _he_ had been foolish to think the Dean in front of him would ever trust him. It had taken Dean long enough in the future, and he still wasn’t sure why Dean continued to pray for his help—

A sudden realization made Castiel straighten, an icy fear trickling down his spine. 

Maybe the only reason Dean trusted him in the future was because of their bond, because he had touched Dean’s soul in Hell. Without that touch, Dean would hate him as much as he hated Uriel and Zachariah and the rest—would hate him as his past self did now. Castiel could see it in Dean’s hostility back at the motel, could see it now in the way Dean’s eyes narrowed glancing at him.

_It doesn’t matter,_ he thought determinedly, even as he looked away and clenched his fingers around his sleeve cuffs. Regardless of the reason, he should be grateful that Dean didn’t hate him in the future—at least, not with the same ferocity of anger directed towards the other angels. 

But he’d thought that perhaps… Perhaps Dean trusted him because he saw something in him, saw he was different from the other angels. And perhaps Castiel had even flattered himself that he was unique, an angel who could connect with humankind better than even his superiors, could gain Dean’s trust through their shared understanding.

It seemed he’d been mistaken. It seemed future Dean was only acting on an instinct he didn’t fully understand, a bond Castiel had unknowingly created when he pulled him from Hell. Was this the lesson Chuck was trying to teach him?

_This doesn’t change a thing_ , he told himself, but the thought remained, worrisome, coiling in his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _coming up, Cas accompanies Sam and Dean as they go talk to the widow of the victim, and continues to try and gain Dean's trust_  
>   
>  thank you for reading!!  
> i'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments, and stay tuned bc chapter 2 will be posted next Friday :)


	2. Wonder

“Don’t know why we have to wear these stupid costumes,” Dean complained, getting out of the Impala. 

Castiel used the door handle this time to get out of the backseat, not wishing to cause any more confusion. “What exactly are we doing?” he asked as Sam grabbed a beat-up, blue toolbox from the trunk. Leaving the diner, they’d driven to a nearby neighborhood to talk to the wife of the man who’d died from electrocution. On the way there, they had stopped at a gas station for Sam and Dean to change into light blue jumpsuits. “Why are you wearing those clothes?” 

Dean rolled his eyes and gestured at Sam. “He’s a drama geek. Always wants to play dress up.”

“We’re posing as electricians,” Sam whispered to him as they walked up the pathway to the front door. “Easier to get into people’s homes if you have an excuse.”

“Don’t give away all our trade secrets,” Dean said, knocking on the front door. 

“What about Castiel?” Sam asked, “What’s he gonna do?”

Dean glanced back at them. “We’ll make something up. Just, don’t say anything, alright, Junkless?”

Castiel felt a little stunned for a moment at the new nickname. “Um, alright,” he managed as the front door opened to reveal a dark-haired woman in a maroon sweater.

“Hello?” she asked, eyes flitting between them. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah, hi, we’re from Monroe Electrical.” Dean gestured to Sam, who held up the toolbox. “We’re looking for an Eva Rodriguez? We heard you had an electrical issue recently?”

“Oh, um, yes, you have the right house, but I’m Natalia, Eva’s sister. If you want to come inside, I'll go grab her.” She stepped back and they filed into the house. Already, Castiel could sense the grief in the house, emanating from her and filling the foyer like a heavy fog. 

“Hold on one second,” the woman, Natalia, said before walking down the hallway. Castiel could hear her speaking low to another woman, asking if she’d hired electricians. 

“Fancy place,” Dean commented, looking around. A wide, dark-stained staircase rose to a second floor and a gilded chandelier hung from the ceiling above their heads.

Natalia returned with another woman, presumably her recently widowed sister Eva. They looked similar, though the sister’s eyes were puffy, her shoulders slumped as she pulled a cardigan tighter around herself. Castiel didn’t need to see the faint tear tracks on her cheeks to know she’d been crying; her grief was almost palpable and his grace itched to heal her. In Heaven, he could sense humans’ pain, hear it in their prayers, but standing in a human vessel so close to hurting humans was entirely different, overwhelming. 

So caught up in her emotions, he hardly heard Eva clear her throat and say, “I’m sorry, but I didn’t hire any electricians.”

“I should’ve specified,” Dean said. “The county sent us over. You know, just to check up on things after what happened.”

“We’re so sorry for your loss,” Sam added. “We know this is a difficult time for both of you.”

Eva nodded tearfully. “Thank you.” She gestured to the staircase. “I guess I should show you the room?”

“I’ll show them,” Natalia spoke up, “Don’t worry about it.”

Eva nodded and headed back down the hallway. “She’s having a really difficult time right now, as I’m sure you can guess,” Natalia said quietly when Eva was out of earshot. 

“Right, of course,” Sam said. “I’m assuming she’s the one who found Mr. Rodriguez?”

Leading them upstairs, Natalia nodded. “She said Robert went to bed early, and she was in the kitchen when she heard a shout. Ran upstairs and he was unresponsive. She called 911, but there was nothing the paramedics could do.” She opened a door and gestured at a large master suite with a four-poster bed and a wide bay window. “Here’s where he… where he passed.”

“And all the lights were out when the accident occurred?” Dean asked, stepping into the room.

Natalia nodded. “No heater or fan or anything running. And all of the switches seem to be working just fine.” To demonstrate, she flipped one and a floor lamp by an armchair turned on. “I don’t understand how it could have happened.”

Dean nodded slowly, looking around the room. “You ever notice anything else odd going on in the house? Lights flickering, cold spots, furniture moving, that sort of thing?”

Frowning, Natalia shook her head. “No, I mean, I can ask Eva. But she’s never mentioned anything like that. Why, why do you ask? Why would furniture move?”

“Just standard industry questions,” Dean said with a wave of his hand. “If you let us look around, we’ll figure out what went wrong.”

She nodded and turned to leave, then glanced at Castiel. “Sorry, are you, um, are you an electrician too?”

Castiel tensed and looked at Sam and Dean for help. “No, I, uh—”

“He’s our supervisor,” Dean cut in. “Just observing us for the day. Nothing to worry about.”

“Okay. Sounds good. Um, if you need me, I’ll be downstairs.” 

“Thanks, Natalia,” Sam said, smiling at her, and she left the room, heading back downstairs.

Castiel let out a sigh of relief when she was gone, both from the fact that he hadn’t blown their cover, and from the lessening of the grief he felt when she was out of the room. “There’s a deep sadness in this house,” he noted. 

“You think, Sherlock? Lady’s husband just died.” Looking at Sam, Dean tapped his nose, “Ozone.” Castiel caught the sharp odor in the air, only noticeable now in the bedroom. 

“Yeah.” Sam turned a nightstand lamp on, then off. “Definitely a spirit.”

Stepping forward into the room, Castiel looked at the framed photos on the wall. Eva in a wedding dress and a man, presumably her husband, in a suit. A grey-haired man in a recliner, Eva’s arm draped over his neck, both smiling. A low screech pulled his attention to Dean opening the toolbox and pulling out a small, black square with an antenna and tiny light bulbs. 

“What’s that?” Castiel asked, going to his side. 

“An EMF reader. It’ll let us know if there’s any ghostly presence here.” Dean glanced at him, and Castiel realized he was standing very close, their arms brushing. “You wanna give me some space?”

“Right, yes, of course.” He stepped back and Dean turned the reader on. It whined and crackled, the lights turning red as Dean walked around the room, holding it up to different objects. 

Sam was using some kind of scanner that emitted two green, crisscrossing lines. “The autopsy said Rodriguez’s heart was fried,” he commented. “Rough way to die.”

“Yeah, it’s a bitch,” Dean said, holding the EMF reader up to a lamp.

“How do you… how do you know that?” Castiel asked. 

“Dean almost died a month ago,” Sam answered, almost casually, crouching down to look under the bed. “He’s fine now.”

“I tripped and fell in a puddle while using a taser. Stupid mistake.” The whining noise stopped as Dean turned off the EMF reader. “There was definitely a ghost in here. None of these objects are reading higher than the other, so probably tied to the house.” 

“Someone must’ve died here recently before Rodriguez,” Sam said. “Became the ghost.”

Dean nodded and dropped the reader into the toolbox, shut the lid. “Here boss, you get to carry this,” he said, handing it to Castiel. 

Taking it, Castiel followed him and Sam down the stairs into the foyer. Natalia appeared at the foot of the stairs, and Castiel gripped the toolbox tighter as he once again felt her grief wash over him. 

“Eva said they’d never had any trouble with the electricity before,” she said. “Never had anything strange going on with the house. Did you find what was wrong?”

“There was some faulty wiring in one of the lamps,” Dean said. “We fixed it.”

“Oh my God. I can’t believe it. That’s awful. I’ll have to tell Eva…” She glanced down the hallway. 

“How is Eva doing?” Sam asked. “I can’t imagine, with this death…”

Natalia nodded. “It’s been rough, really rough. And this is the second death in the family this month. Our dad died only two weeks ago.”

“Oh, really?” Dean asked, glancing at Sam. “Did he, uh, did he die in the house by chance?”

“Yes, actually.” Natalia stared at them. “How did you know?”

“Um, well, uh, Sam here.” Dean clapped Sam on the back. “He’s kinda sensitive to these things, he could sense it. Lots of death in this house.” Natalia nodded tearfully as Sam narrowed his eyes at Dean. “Um, how’d he die?”

“His heart finally just gave out. Dad lived a long life. Eva and Robert, they took care of him before he passed.”

“Really?” Dean said, as if something had clicked in his brain. Castiel frowned, unsure what Dean was getting from this conversation. “Well, uh, thanks for your time. Nice home Eva has here, very, uh… nice.” Sam rolled his eyes.

“Thank you.” Natalia gestured around. “I’m actually an antiques dealer. I helped Eva and Robert furnish their home.” Her eyes teared up again. “The last time I saw Robert was a few days ago when he came to my shop to pick up that chandelier.”

Castiel glanced up at the light fixture, and Dean cleared his throat. “Isn’t that nice? We really should be going.”

Outside, Dean shook his shoulders out. “Hate when they start crying. Think Eva and Robert weren’t taking as good care of their dad as Natalia thinks?”

“Makes sense,” Sam mused, taking the tool box from Castiel and stowing it in the trunk. “They don’t take care of him well, he dies, he comes back as a ghost and gets his revenge by going for Robert’s heart. Same thing that ended up killing him.”

“Which means Eva is next. We gotta figure out where their dad was buried.”

“Then what?” Castiel asked. 

“Torch his bones,” Dean said, opening the driver’s side door. “Only way to make sure he doesn’t keep haunting the house.”

“Is that legal?”

“No.” Dean paused before getting in his seat. “You gonna report us to the police or something?”

“No,” Castiel hastened to say. “No, of course not.”

“Good.”

**·•·•·•·**

They returned to the motel where, after some research, Sam found out where Eva and Natalia’s father, Carlos Rodriguez, had been buried. “Now we wait,” Dean said. He’d changed out of the jumpsuit into his normal clothes, and he stooped to open a green cooler at the foot of a bed. “You ever tried a beer before, Cas?” he asked, pulling out two bottles. Castiel shook his head and Dean raised an eyebrow. “Well, we gotta fix that.” 

Opening one of the bottles, he handed it to Castiel. Castiel peered at the liquid inside before taking a drink. Instantly, an array of conflicting sensations hit his tongue, none of them pleasant. He grimaced and Dean grinned. “Whaddya think?”

Shaking his head, Castiel handed it back. “It tastes like molecules.” Dean let out a laugh and Sam smiled, watching from where he sat at the table. “I don’t think it’ll have any sort of effect on me anyway.”

A phone rang and Dean startled, then fished around in his jacket pocket. Pulling the phone out, he glanced at the screen and his face fell a little. 

“Bobby,” he told Sam, holding it up. Castiel wondered if he'd been expecting a call from his father. “Hey, Bobby, did you get my message?” he asked, answering the phone and setting down his beer bottle.

He went outside, and Castiel sat next to Sam at the table. “Bobby helped raise you, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, great guy,” Sam said. “We haven’t talked to him in a while though. He’s gonna be shocked when he learns angels exist.”

Castiel nodded, though he wondered how happy Chuck was going to be. He was going to have his work cut out for him, erasing everyone’s memories. 

Shutting his laptop, Sam leaned back in his chair and twiddled his thumbs, glancing everywhere but Castiel. “Are most hunts like this?” Castiel asked, trying to fill the awkward silence. “Waiting around?”

Sam nodded. “It can be pretty boring most times. But,” he gestured to Castiel, “then sometimes something weird happens, like an angel in our closet. Sorry, not weird, I meant—”

“I understand. My sudden appearance must’ve been unsettling. It wasn’t a very good entrance.”

Sam laughed and leaned forward in his chair, letting the front two legs hit the carpet with a soft thump. “Hey, um, I wanted to ask. Heaven, it’s like Earth, you said?”

“Yes. It’s a wonderful place. Everyone has their own part of Heaven, composed of your happiest memories. I enjoy visiting different ones when I want to think and get away from the noise.”

“Sounds nice.” Sam glanced at the door Dean had left through. If Castiel listened, he could hear Dean’s conversation with Bobby. 

“He’s this weird, dorky, little guy,” he heard Dean say. “Wearing a fucking trenchcoat and everything, and I’m supposed to just trust him?... He’s from the future, Bobby! That can’t be good!... Fine, do your research and get back to us… I’m not being pissy, I’m just trying to get answers—”

“Have you...” Castiel returned his focus to Sam, who continued, “Have you ever seen a Jessica Moore in Heaven?”

Castiel knew the name. “No,” he said and Sam’s face fell. “I only know what my superiors told me about her.” Before their mission to rescue Dean from Hell, his superiors had briefed him and the other angels on the basics of the Winchesters’ lives. Their names, how they became hunters, the death of their mother and father, of Sam’s girlfriend. Those details proved to only scratch the surface of who the Winchesters were. 

Trying to emulate Sam’s words of condolences to Eva, he added, “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“That’s alright,” Sam said quickly, looking down at his hands.

“When I return to the future, to Heaven, I’ll look for her. She’s there, I can assure you.”

“Thank you.” Sam met his eyes. “That’s—thanks.”

Castiel nodded. The door opened to admit Dean, who announced, “Bobby’s never heard of any hunters seeing any angels.” He threw his phone onto his bed. “But, he does say it’s not impossible that they exist. He’s gonna do some research. So, looks like you can stick around, Cas. We don’t know how to gank you anyways, so guess you’re safe. For now.”

“Don’t listen to him, Cas,” Sam said. “No one’s going to try to kill you.”

“What a relief,” Castiel said dryly, staring Dean down. He wasn’t sure how serious Dean was being. He’d hoped he’d somewhat proved himself to Dean and Sam by now, but maybe he should give up hope of this Dean ever trusting him.

Dean smirked a little, which Castiel wasn’t sure to take as a threat or reassurance. Grabbing his beer off the nightstand, Dean said, “Oh, yeah, and Bobby found another case for us, Sam. One town over from here. Looks like wendigos.”

“What town?” Sam asked, opening his laptop. He typed in the details as Dean told him and grimaced. “Ugh. Two bodies found in a ditch.”

“Good times,” Dean said, leaning over Sam’s shoulder to look at the screen. “You ever killed a wendigo, Cas?”

“No. I’ve never killed any of the monsters you hunt.”

“Really? What kinda angel are you? Thought you guys would be badasses.”

“I’ve led armies,” Castiel answered, unable to stop the haughtiness in his tone. “I’ve fought demons.”

“Oh, well.” Dean looked mildly impressed. “That could be useful.” He smacked Sam’s shoulder. “Hey, show him the stuff about what Dad’s hunting now.”

Fishing John’s journal out his bag, Sam opened it and pointed to an entry. “It’s a demon with yellow eyes.” 

Castiel leaned closer and read John’s scrawl. The demon who had killed Mary, infected Sam with his blood. “Azazel,” he said aloud, pointing to the _name?_ John had scribbled next to a description of the demon, then repeated the name in Enochian. “His name is Azazel. I know who he is.”

“What was that?” Sam asked. Castiel looked up at him. “The word you used.”

Castiel repeated it. “It’s Enochian, language of the angels.”

“You guys have your own language?” Dean asked. “You guys have curse words or can angels not swear? What’s Enochian for fuck?”

“Dean,” Sam complained, and Castiel stopped himself from explaining that he wasn’t sure Dean or Sam would be able to pronounce any translation. Dean laughed outright at him and Castiel tried to erase the confusion from his face. 

“Azazel is a Prince of Hell,” he said instead. “He and other demons like him are very dangerous.”

“Shit,” Dean said. “Maybe we should tell Dad.” Pulling out his phone, he pushed a few buttons.

“Can I ask you some questions?” Sam asked. “Since we have this journal, I wanna take notes.”

Castiel nodded and Sam launched into questions about Heaven, angels, Enochian. As Castiel answered them, trying to explain everything in simple terms humans would understand, Sam dutifully wrote down his answers in John’s journal. Castiel allowed it, knowing Chuck would be sure to wipe Dean and Sam’s memories and erase any notes about angels in the journal. The Winchesters didn’t need to know their memories would be erased. They had enough questions already, and Castiel didn’t know how to answer that one. It seemed a bit cruel to play with their memories, but Chuck had his reasons. No doubt he wanted to avoid disrupting the great plan, the looming Apocalypse. Nothing could threaten it.

When Sam had filled several pages in the journal, Dean spoke up, “Hey, I got a question.” He had taken a seat on one of the beds and opened a duffel bag, laying out several handguns and rifles on towels covering the duvet, going through and cleaning them as Castiel and Sam spoke. It was unclear whether he intended the display of all their weapons to be a show of strength, a threat—though Castiel certainly wouldn’t put it past him. “You spy on humans, right?” 

“Not exactly,” Castiel started. 

Dean continued unfazed, “You get stuck watching random humans or do you ever check in on any celebrities? Spy on Brangelina?—God, I’d love that job,” he added under his breath.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Why are you always talking about Brad Pitt?”

“Always?” Dean stammered. “What do you mean always?”

“I don’t know who that is,” Castiel spoke up, drawing both Sam and Dean’s attention.

“Wow. Okay. Wow.” Dean pointed at Castiel. “You stick around long enough, we’re watching everything. _Seven, Fight Club, Thelma and Louise_ , you name it. Can’t believe you angels are so fucking oblivious.”

“You really don’t have to, Cas,” Sam spoke up. 

“No, I would enjoy that.” The mere fact that Dean was insinuating he stay around longer was encouraging. Maybe this was a sign that this Dean _could_ come to accept him, even without his soul bonded to Castiel’s grace. Though, seeing as how Dean had just threatened to kill him, jokingly or not, maybe he was being too optimistic. “I’ve never gotten to watch TV before. I mean, directly, instead of watching humans watch TV.”

“You really need to learn to live a little, buddy,” Dean said, tossing a grease-stained rag onto a towel. 

It was an absurd thing to say to him, Castiel knew, seeing as how he’d been alive for eons and would live long after Dean, but the thought struck him as true anyway. For all his observations, he really didn’t understand humans very well. Receiving a vessel, interacting with the Winchesters, it’d been a cultural shock in the future. And he hadn’t had much time to adjust in all the chaos recently. 

Now was his chance. Perhaps that was part of God’s intention for sending him back in time, to have time to think things through, to interact with the Winchesters without the stress of the approaching apocalypse. 

It _was_ enlightening to see Sam and Dean this way. Calm, all things considered. In the future, his every interaction with the Winchesters was fraught, filled with tension and directives. He knew Sam and Dean as strategists, he knew them as conniving and hopeless and angry. Now, he could know them as simply two brothers, hunters. 

And he did want to know them like that, Castiel thought, watching Dean stow his guns and weapons back in the duffel bag. He wanted to know Dean as a person rather than the Sword of Michael, the angels’ pawn. But he was beginning to suspect he would never have a chance to know Dean like that in the future. Even if the Apocalypse didn’t come to pass, he wouldn’t be staying around, joining on hunts. Sam and Dean wouldn’t have any use for him anymore. And then what would happen to him? Alienated from Heaven, from humans, where would he go?

It was a sobering thought. He was an angel, after all. If coming here had reminded him of anything, it was how different he was from Sam and Dean, how little he truly understood of humanity. 

Nodding as Sam shut the journal and thanked him for answering his questions, Castiel wondered if maybe his superiors were right, if maybe this was the lesson Chuck wanted him to learn: he had no real place with the Winchesters. Choosing to rebel against Heaven with Sam and Dean would only seal his fate for a long, lonely existence.

“I’m gonna go grab us some food,” Dean said, zipping up the duffel bag. Castiel glanced out the window and realized the sky was turning orange and pink, long shadows stretching across the motel parking lot.

Grabbing his jacket, Dean started for the door, and Castiel stood. “May I come with you?” Chuck had sent him to the past for a reason, and he had to learn why, even if the lesson he learned wasn’t one he wanted to hear. Maybe talking to Dean alone would provide some answers.

Dean glanced at him, then Sam. “You guys go and bring me back whatever,” Sam said, opening his laptop. “I’ll start researching the case Bobby sent us.” 

That earned a glare from Dean, and for a moment Castiel feared he would say no, but instead, opening the door, he said, “Alright then, Feathers, let’s go.”

Pulling out of the parking lot, Dean turned on the radio and clashing music filled the car. The sun was setting behind them, casting the street in an orange glow and reflecting sharply in the rearview mirror on Castiel’s door. 

Their eyes met when Dean glanced at him. Apprehension, that’s what Castiel was sensing from him. In the future, he had expected the Winchesters to be more self-possessed, more confident. But they were only human after all. If the Winchesters in the future were wary and cautious, he should’ve expected as much from the Dean sitting next to him. Angels, demons—all were new to him. And there was still so much he and Sam didn’t know. 

“I know this must be a lot to take in, Dean,” he said, breaking the silence between them.

“No, not at all,” Dean answered with a healthy amount of sarcasm. “Driving with an angel sitting shotgun. Just another Thursday evening.”

“It’s strange for me too,” Castiel said. “It’s strange seeing you like this.”

Dean glanced at him. “Like what?” 

“In the future, every time we talk, something crucial is happening. I’m either with my superiors, or you've prayed to me for help—”

“I pray to you?”

“Yes. Does that seem odd?”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah. But I guess if we’re ‘best buds’ or whatever—”

“I didn’t say that’s what we were. We have only just met each other in the future. But we do have a lot in common.” 

Dean scoffed, and Castiel frowned. “You don’t think that's true?”

Dean gestured to him. “I mean, you're a freaking angel. That’s a pretty big difference right there. But what would I know? You’re the guy from the future, you know everything.”

“I'm not omniscient, Dean.” Castiel looked out the windshield. The lamp posts along the street had turned on, orange light barely visible in the last rays of the sun. “I think you would be surprised to learn how little I know about some things.”

“What things?”

“What choices to make. Who to trust.” Sighing, he shrugged. “I’m close with many angels in Heaven who I consider my siblings, who I thought I could trust. But recently… I’m not sure. Uriel betrayed me, Gabriel won’t choose sides, Anna is... different. She and I used to be so close, we went through so much together...” He trailed off, knowing Dean had no clue what he was talking about. 

“Who’s Anna?” Dean spoke up. “Your angel ex-girlfriend?”

Of course Dean would think so. “No. For one she’s not a girl, though she did inhabit a female vessel. She was my superior, until she fell.”

“She fell? What’s that mean?”

“She grew… discontent. So she cut herself off from Heaven, removed her grace, and lived as a human. You will meet her in the future.” He couldn’t stop a tone of bitterness from seeping into his tone. How Anna had gained Dean’s trust and affection so quickly escaped him. All because she appealed to Sam and Dean, asked for their help. He’d helped the Winchesters so much, given them information and gone behind his superiors’ backs, and yet future Dean was often still so hostile towards him. 

Pushing that aside, he continued his earlier thought, “So many of my friends, my siblings, they’ve become beings I hardly recognize anymore. I don’t know who I can rely on or follow anymore.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean glance at him, then tap his thumb on the steering wheel. “Well,” Dean said, “Sounds rough. All I know is family always comes first.”

Castiel studied him. “Do you truly believe that?”

“Yeah. What else do you have if you don’t have family?”

“I don’t know.”

“There you go.”

Castiel nodded slowly. Maybe Dean was right. His fellow angels hadn’t been acting much like a family recently, though. Too much backstabbing and deception. But in the end he’d known them for ages, and the Winchesters only months. Maybe God was right, maybe the Winchesters were only using him for their own gain. Or maybe future Dean was right, and it was the angels who were manipulating him, preying on his devotion to Heaven to make him fall in line without complaint. 

It was all so complicated and everything had moved so fast. While his decision to help Dean escape Zachariah’s control hadn’t been completely abrupt—he’d been questioning Heaven’s plan ever since rescuing Dean from Hell—he _had_ been forced to act quickly without taking complete consideration of all the consequences. 

Dean’s words from the future echoed in his head, _you know what’s right and wrong_ —but he’d been incorrect—Castiel hadn’t fully known. He’d only had feelings, and he’d let them lead him, had chosen to help Dean and had ended up dead. He wasn’t bitter, didn’t hold any grudge against Dean, but once again he found himself filled with doubt. 

“What did you mean, we have a lot in common?” Dean asked and Castiel glanced at him. It seemed absurd to say; as Dean had said, they were two different types of beings. How could they ever be similar? 

“We are both very good at following orders,” he answered. “You obey your father without question. I am the same way with my superiors. But we both have doubts—”

“Hold on, hold on,” Dean interrupted. “I don't have doubts. And with my dad? Yeah, I listen to him, he’s my dad, and he’s the best damn hunter there is. I’d be stupid to not listen. I don't doubt him.”

Castiel studied Dean, trying to decide if he was only putting on a front or being sincere. “What?” Dean asked irritatedly. 

“I suppose that may be true now,” Castiel decided. “You do change quite a bit from now until I meet you in the future.”

“What? You’re saying I turn into Sam? Talking back, arguing with everything my dad says?”

“No. Not quite.” Even if John was still alive in the future, Castiel doubted Dean would act like that. He didn’t know if he could explain how Dean had changed. It was a difference seen mostly at a soul level. In the future, he’d only known a version of Dean scarred by Hell’s trauma. Seeing him like this made him realize just how weighty Hell’s impact on Dean was, how much future Dean carried with him. 

“Listen,” Dean said abruptly, pulling him from his thoughts. “I don't know what you’ve seen in the future, but I know what’s gonna happen. Dad’s gonna find that thing that killed Mom, and we’re gonna make the evil son of a bitch pay, and then all of us will keep hunting together. Just like old times.”

And there was the biggest difference between the Dean before him now and the Dean he knew in the future. This Dean was lighter, optimistic. And Castiel was surprised how much sorrow he felt to know how much Dean would change in a few short years. Though he’d healed Dean when he drew him from Hell, some wounds were deep. He couldn’t heal Dean of Hell’s impact and trauma. 

“That sounds very nice,” he said since he wasn’t sure what else he could say without giving away what would come to pass. Stopping at a red light, Dean stared at him. “What?” Castiel asked, cocking his head. 

“You’re not good at hiding your thoughts, you know that, right? I can see right through you. You're hiding something. You don’t wanna tell us about something that happens in the future.”

“Dean, if it would make any difference, I would, but there’s nothing you can do to change anything that will happen.” Dean rolled his eyes and the light turned green. Pulling his eyes back to the road, he continued driving, and Castiel asked, “Am I really so easy to read?”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, sorta. One thing I can't tell though, is what do you want from me and Sam?”

“I don't want anything from you.”

“Then why do you keep staring at me like you're trying to figure me out?”

“I just find you a very fascinating human.”

“Yeah, that’s not creepy at all.” He pulled into a small gravel lot where a squat building stood. A sign over the window read _Curtis Brothers’ Burgers and Shakes_. “I’m not some fucking rat in a maze for you to observe, you know.”

Castiel set his jaw, uncomfortable at how closely Dean had stumbled on the truth. He and Sam would learn soon enough the truth, about the way their lives had been orchestrated by angels and demons alike to fit their purposes. And Castiel himself would be the one in the future to show Dean his mother’s deal with Azazel, the reason behind her death and Sam’s premonitions. He didn’t want to tell Dean sooner than he needed to; it’d only cause him unnecessary pain.

A small relief fluttered in him that at least he was the one to rescue Dean, to save him from the pit and give him his life back.

“Alright, fuck, what now?” Dean asked, parking the car, and Castiel realized he’d fallen silent. He hesitated before speaking and Dean huffed. “Right, right, you can't tell me. Well, you can shove what you think you know about me and my future up your ass. I don’t give a shit.”

Despite himself, Castiel laughed. It was an absurdly bold thing to say to him, considering he had seen the future. It was something he could imagine the Dean he knew from the future saying.

“Oh, he laughs,” Dean said. “I was starting to think you might be a robot.”

“I envy you, Dean,” Castiel said, shifting in his seat to look at him fully. “You are very confident.”

“Is that a dig? Your way of telling me I'm some naive idiot?”

“If I thought you were being idiotic, I would tell you so.” Dean raised an eyebrow. “No, I don’t think you’re naive. I think you will always fight for what’s best for you and your family, even when all the odds are against you.”

“Damn straight, I will. You learn that about me in the future?” Castiel nodded. “Then you know I won’t let anything hurt Sammy or my dad. You or anyone else. Which means I’m keeping an eye on you, you hear?”

“I understand. It’s very noble of you to be so protective. I admire that about you.”

“Someone has a crush,” Dean muttered, opening his car door. 

“Who? Has a what?”

Dean glanced at him, then rolled his eyes and got out of the car, “Never mind. Stay here, I’ll grab the food.” He paused, leaning on the car door, looking inside. “You really don’t eat?”

“No.”

“You sure you’re not a robot? Or some alien?”

“No. Fairly certain.” He thought he saw Dean hide a grin by shutting the door and walking away. What had he said that was so amusing?

After Sam and Dean ate back at the motel room, they waited for it to grow dark before driving to the cemetery. Parking in the shadows of a few trees, Dean grabbed two shovels from the trunk and tossed one to Sam. Castiel followed as they walked in between the tombstones until Sam spotted one with the name Rodriguez. 

Setting down the lantern he was carrying, Dean stabbed his shovel into the dirt. Castiel looked around the cemetery. Tall trees behind a low stone border rustled in a breeze. A dark, empty gravel road snaked through the graves. Stars lit the sky. Was Chuck watching him? How long would he be allowed to stay with the Winchesters?

A little time longer, he hoped. In comparison to the war being waged in the future, life here—sitting in a motel room, driving to get food, standing in a cemetery in the light of a lantern—was peaceful, calming. Maybe that was a selfish thought, and he was only stalling, delaying the inevitable time when he would have to make a choice between continuing to assist the Winchesters or returning to Heaven.

Shoving his hands in his coat pockets, he watched as Dean and Sam dug into the ground in front of the gravestone. As the hole grew deeper, Dean shed his jacket and flannel, leaving his arms bare, his shirt sticking to his chest. Castiel felt an odd twist in his stomach at the sight.

“Would you like help?” he asked, trying to ignore it. 

Dean glanced up at him and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Sure, if you’re offering.”

Castiel took the shovel from him and began digging. Dean sat on the cooler by the lantern and opened a beer.

To Castiel’s annoyance, his coat soon became restricting. Following Dean’s lead, he stripped down to his undershirt. So many layers, it was ridiculous. Why did humans always wear so much clothing?

“You’re gonna ruin your clothes,” Dean said as he tossed his suit coat out of the hole he and Sam had made.

Stooping to drive his shovel into the dirt, then straightening to toss the shovelful out of the hole, Castiel said, “I can clean them up with my grace.”

“Your grace? Is that like your angel juice?”

“Gross,” Sam said, crawling out of the grave to grab a beer. 

“It’s my power, yes.” Castiel paused in digging. The hole they’d dug was deep enough that the level ground came up to mid-chest. “My essence, I suppose. What makes me an angel. It allows me to do things like this.” He snapped his fingers and Dean’s beer bottle refilled. 

Dean’s eyes widened. “Holy shit.” He hit Sam on the arm. “Sam, you see that?”

“Why don’t you just zap the dirt out of the grave?” Sam asked Castiel.

“Oh.” Castiel looked down at the dirt. “I thought this was part of the experience.”

“No, let him keep digging,” Dean said. “He needs to understand our struggles.” His eyes trailed for a moment over him and Castiel felt his face heat. Such strange sensations. Being in a vessel was disconcerting. Turning away, he continued digging.

Dean returned to the grave to help him and finally they hit something solid. Reaching down, Dean wiped away the dirt to reveal a coffin lid. 

Castiel said, “Allow me.” Crouching down, he lifted the lid of the coffin easily and tossed it back against the dirt.

“Wow,” Dean commented. “You’re strong.”

“Keep it in your pants,” Sam muttered from where he sat at the edge of the grave, and Dean flipped him off. 

A body lay in the coffin, early signs of decay evident in its yellow complexion and the bloating of its skin. Dean swore at the smell and Castiel grimaced. They climbed out of the grave and Sam poured gasoline over the remains of Carlos Rodriguez. Dean dumped salt inside, then lit a pack of matches and tossed it into the hole. Instantly, flames burst to life inside the coffin, engulfing the body. Castiel took a step back at the heat on his face. 

“Sayonara,” Dean said, slinging one of the shovels over his shoulder. “Let’s get out of here.”

**·•·•·•·**

Back at the motel, Sam announced, “I get the shower first.”

Dean tossed his jacket on a chair. “Don’t use up all the hot water.” Sam threw a pillow at him and Dean swatted it away. Sinking down on a bed, he grabbed a remote from the nightstand and switched on the TV. 

Castiel leaned forward to look at the screen as Sam shut the bathroom door. “What are you watching?”

Dean shrugged. “Some doctor show.” 

“May I join you?”

“Um, yeah, sure.” Sliding over, Dean made room for him on his bed.

Castiel went to sit down, then realized his clothes were still muddy. With a wave of his hand, he set them back to pristine condition. Looking up, he realized Dean was staring at him, mouth slightly open. Then Dean’s eyes met his and he snapped his mouth shut, turning back to the TV.

Castiel sat down on the end of the bed, only a foot or so from Dean. He followed Dean’s gaze to the TV where two surgeons kissed in an operating room. “That doesn’t seem professional,” he commented.

Dean laughed. “It’s all fake, it’s just for the drama.” Leaning back against the headboard, he looked at Castiel. “You really never watched TV or anything?”

“I haven’t done many human things.” Dean raised an eyebrow and Castiel realized what he must be thinking. He felt himself flush and looked back at the doctors on TV to avoid Dean’s eyes.

“What about… angel things?” Dean asked. “You guys getting it on in Heaven? It is Heaven, for fuck’s sake. Please tell me fucking isn’t forbidden up there.”

“It isn’t. But between angels, no. That doesn’t happen. Not in our true forms.”

“Then on Earth, when you’re in,” he gestured to Castiel, “human bodies.”

“No. Well, maybe. Some angels. I’m not sure.” Dean was still staring at him and Castiel sighed. “I haven’t been in a vessel many times.”

Dean shifted to face him. “So you’re telling me you’re a virgin?”

“I, uh…”

“You’ve been alive for how many years?”

“I’ve been busy!” Castiel protested. Dean snorted. “And I haven’t really had the opportunity.”

Dean looked mildly interested at that. “So, if you had the chance? You’re not opposed, or anything? Or are all you angels prudes?” 

“I am not a prude, Dean. Sex is not inherently sinful. I see nothing wrong with the mere act of it.”

“Wow, talk dirty to me, Cas. I bet you’re fun in bed.”

Castiel looked down at the bed they were sitting on. Sometimes he wondered if they were even speaking the same language. “I don’t know—”

Rolling his eyes, Dean returned his attention to the TV. “Never mind.”

Castiel watched him instead of the screen. Did the angels who frequently visited Earth ever find themselves… attracted to a human? Well, he knew some had, because he’d heard of humans and angels having offspring together. But it was all rumors and secrets. And though he’d been intrigued by many humans in his years of observing, he’d never felt something he would call attraction. Not until he’d inhabited a vessel, that is. Sitting so close to a human, in a human body, everything felt different than it had from the distance of Heaven.

“To answer your question,” he said, “no, I’m not opposed to it.” That caught Dean’s attention. “I may even be interested. Not that I know any angels who have interested me.” Maybe he’d been living with them all for too long. They always got on his nerves more often or not.

He held Dean’s gaze and Dean seemed about to speak, then Sam slammed open the bathroom door startling them. 

“There, I took a quick shower,” Sam told Dean. “Satisfied?”

Dean stood. “Awesome.”

When Dean went into the bathroom, Sam changed the channel, telling Castiel that _Dr. Sexy_ was trash television and Dean had horrible taste. Sitting cross-legged on his bed, he began asking Castiel more questions about angels, what Castiel’s role was in Heaven, how many angels existed, and Castiel tried to explain. He appreciated Sam’s curiosity, though Sam’s awe of the angels might be misplaced. They were more divided and confused as a whole than the Bible or stories might portray. 

“If you know about the visions I’ve been having,” Sam said. “Do you know what’s causing them?”

Castiel hesitated. “I’m sorry, Sam. I know some things. I don’t know fully why.”

Sam sighed. “Right. One more thing to figure out on our own.”

“You will, Sam. You and Dean are more than capable.”

Sam let out a laugh. “I don’t know if that’s true. Dean, he…” He glanced at the bathroom door from which the sound of running water came. “I think he’s worried about me.” He fiddled with a string on the comforter. “I’m worried.” 

Understandably. The visions, the demon blood, the psychic abilities—all allowed to happen for the overarching plan that Heaven had been working towards for eons. Why humans had to be involved, hurt by Heaven and Hell’s own warring was beyond Castiel, but maybe that was the point. His superiors did always tell him to just obey without question. His life _would_ be a lot simpler if he did so.

“I’m sorry,” he said again because he was sorry, but he didn’t know what he could say to make anything better. He didn’t know how to say Sam had reason to be worried, how to warn Sam about the temptation of more power, stronger abilities. Anything he did say wouldn’t matter anyway, since Sam wouldn’t remember this conversation.

They dropped the subject when Dean got out of the bathroom, his hair wet and skin flushed. He and Sam argued over the channel, finally asking Castiel to break the tie. Though he was loath to get in the middle of the argument, Castiel chose the brightly colored animated show with a strangely articulate dog and a group of teenagers in a van, much to Dean’s delight.

It was comfortable, sitting with the Winchesters, doing something so mundane as watching TV together. Castiel couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so at peace. Relaxed. In Heaven there was always someone watching, some task, some decorum he had to maintain. Even when he did escape to one of his favorite Heavens, he felt his responsibilities looming. But here he allowed himself to sink back on the pillows and let down his guard for a moment. 

The episode ended and another one started. Sam fell asleep and Dean lowered the volume on the TV. He glanced at Castiel and shifted, crossing his feet at the ankles. 

“I noticed your father hasn’t contacted you and Sam,” Castiel said. “You did tell him about Azazel, right?” 

Dean crossed his arms, eyes flicking to Castiel. “He’s working a case. He’s probably distracted.”

“Did you tell him about me?” In his briefing on the Winchesters, he’d learned of the often volatile relationship between John and his sons. It seemed his absence was not out of the ordinary. 

Dean shifted uncomfortably and Castiel considered another possibility. “You don’t think he’ll believe you. Or if he does, you don’t think he’ll help you.”

“I can handle this myself,” Dean said quickly. He straightened his shoulders. “Don’t need to call for help with every damn thing that happens.”

Castiel nodded. “You know him best.”

“Do you, uh, do you know where he is?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know that.”

Dean returned his gaze to the TV. “‘Course not.” 

“I wish I could help, Dean, I really do.” He sighed. “Sam confided in me about his visions and I wished I had more to tell him.”

Dean’s attention snapped back to him. “What’d he say?”

Not wanting to betray Sam’s confidence, Castiel simply answered, “He’s worried.”

Dean nodded slowly. “Yeah, well, I mean, psychic powers? Sam? He was supposed to be the normal one. And they keep getting more intense. And Dad…” He shook his head. “Never mind, you don’t care about this.”

“No, I do.” Castiel angled his body to look at Dean. “Truly.”

Dean scratched the back of his neck, then said, “It’s nothing, it’s just I have a feeling that my dad is gonna, I don’t know, freak out when we tell him.” He glanced over Castiel’s shoulder at where Sam slept. “But Sam’s gonna be alright, he’s smart. He’d never hurt anyone.”

Castiel nodded. “You obviously care deeply about him.”

“Really?" he scoffed. "You got that from today? What tipped you off? Me yelling at him back at the diner?”

“That was only a small moment of anger, Dean. I see the way you two interact, now and in the future. You and Sam are close, that is evident.” 

“Yeah. Guess so. I just wish... I wish our dad would come back. Sam and him don’t get along at all, but at least he always knows what to do.” He snorted. “I guess your dad is God, right? He really went missing?”

“Not missing, per se. He’s just… withdrawn.”

“For how long?”

“Years. Centuries. Ages.”

“Shit. And I thought my dad being gone for a month was bad. You go searching for him?”

“No. Some of the other angels did, but it was evident he didn’t want to be found. Anyway, I barely know him. Even when he was around, I never interacted with him.”

“That sucks.”

Castiel shrugged. “It’s just the way it is. I was made to serve God and Heaven, not have relationships with him or my fellow angels.” While that was true, he was close to many other angels, relationships so strong he could call them siblings. But God? The term Father felt too familial to describe his relationship with the Lord of the Universe—but that was a blasphemous thought. He should feel close with God, honor him as a father.

Tensing, he waited for a moment, but nothing happened. No strike of lightning, no swift smiting. Not for the first time that day, he was grateful to not have the voices of his siblings ringing in his ears, to know he was free from their watchful gaze.

The cartoon show ended and another began, the volume low. Sam snored softly in the bed next to them. Voices carried outside their door, then faded. 

Breaking the silence between them, Dean asked, “You gonna stay here all night, or are you gonna get your own room?”

“I don’t sleep,” Castiel answered. “I’ll watch over you.” 

“You don’t have to do that,” Dean said, looking uncomfortable. 

“I don’t mind. It isn’t so different than what I do in Heaven.”

“Right. Voyeurist.” He grinned. “Bet you see a lot of kinky stuff.”

“If you mean sex, yes, I do. It gets very tiresome. Very repetitive.”

“Wow,” Dean said, shaking his head. “Just, wow.”

“What?”

“If you’re not watching humans to get your kicks, then what are you doing it for?”

“It’s my duty. Besides, I find humans very fascinating. You have such odd quirks and habits. I’ve been watching for millenia and I am still so often surprised by your capacity for kindness and compassion.”

“And evil,” Dean said. “I’m sure you see a lot more evil than good.”

“At times it seems that way,” Castiel mused. “But in the end, when given a choice, most humans choose good.”

“If you say so.” Yawning, Dean rubbed the back of his neck, looking around the room. Castiel tilted his head, unsure why he was suddenly acting nervous. Dean glanced back at him. “You trying to share this bed or…?”

“Oh.” Castiel stood hurriedly. “I’m sorry. I’ll, um, I’ll sit over here.” He moved to a chair next to the table. 

“I wasn’t trying to kick you out,” Dean said, turning off the TV and slipping under the covers. “I’d just usually ask you to buy me dinner first.” He winked at Castiel and Castiel felt completely lost for a moment on how to respond to that gesture. 

“I don’t have money,” he started, and Dean started laughing. Realizing Dean had been teasing him, Castiel smiled a little, even if Dean’s laugh was at his expense. 

Unstrapping his watch, Dean placed it on the nightstand, but stopped short of turning off the lamp. Rotating a ring around one of his fingers, he glanced down at the comforter, around the room.

“You can go to sleep, Dean,” Castiel said, guessing what his reluctance was about. “If I was here to hurt you or Sam, I would’ve done it already.”

Dean snorted. “That’s reassuring.” But he leaned over and turned off the lamp. The room went dark and Castiel’s eyes slowly adjusted. 

His expression obscured in the shadows, Dean pulled up the covers and rolled over. “Can you stop staring?” he said, his voice muffled. “It’s creepy.”

“My apologies.” Turning his head to the window, he watched cars pass by on the road outside the motel. When he glanced back at Dean, Dean’s eyes were shut. He felt strangely grateful for the sight. It was an act of trust that Dean would let his guard down around him. Only this morning, he’d shot at him, threatened him.

He knew he shouldn’t stare, but he let himself watch for a few more long seconds, let his gaze pierce to Dean’s soul. Not so pained as Dean’s soul in the future. The difference between the future and now was striking, though he didn’t think any less of Dean’s post-Hell soul. If anything, the way it continued to shine so brightly showed its resilience. 

Pulling his gaze away, he stared out the window again, watched a lamppost light flicker in odd intervals. A quiet fear returned, a cold trickling sensation down his spine. Even after being in a vessel for the past few months, he still wasn’t used to his emotions overtaking him like this. In his true form he had thoughts, feelings, but they were all so abstract. Now, in this human body, his doubts became tangible—a restlessness itching under his skin, a tenseness tightening his shoulders, an unease churning in his stomach. 

Guilt. That's what he felt. Was he manipulating Dean in the future to trust him? Maybe Dean would’ve never prayed to him or asked for his help if Castiel hadn’t unknowingly created a bond between them by rescuing him in Hell. Maybe it wouldn’t matter so much if he had stayed away, obeyed his superiors and done his job. But instead he had acted on impulse and become invested in Dean’s life, complicating so much. 

All because he couldn’t stay away. Any other angel, they would’ve rescued Dean and stepped back, let the plan carry out. But not him. He was weak minded, weak willed; his superiors told him as much. Who did he think he was, to question Heaven’s authority? 

A sobering thought. He watched the glinting lights on the wall made by a neon sign outside flashing _No Vacancy_ , and waited. But God didn’t drag him back to the future. 

Sighing, he rested his elbow on the table and leaned his head on his hand. He understood now: he wasn’t special; he was an angel who got lucky, who happened to fly the fastest and grab Dean’s soul first, who happened to be too weak to let go. What more was there to learn? 

But maybe getting sent to the past was less an opportunity to learn and more a punishment for his disobedience in the future. As punishments went, this one was not so horrible; he should be grateful. 

Guiltily, he let his gaze slide to Dean again. He wished he’d known about Dean when Dean was this age, wished he’d watched over him throughout the years. He _was_ a very intriguing human. Stubborn, disrespectful, but Castiel could appreciate Dean’s questioning, his refusal to blindly accept whatever Castiel told him. 

It was a trait he admired in humans—their ability to stand up against higher powers, to think for themselves and fight for what they believed in no matter the cost.

Looking away, his eyes fell to the table where he sat, to John’s journal. Sliding it closer, he flipped it open. John was obviously a committed hunter, if his attention to detail was any indicator. Near the back of the journal, he found Sam’s handwriting about angels, and someone else’s. Dean’s, he was assuming. A short entry about a case. A spirit in a lake killing multiple people over the years. A witness to the deaths. A child, Dean had noted, named Lucas. Castiel wondered why Dean had added a name.

He flipped to the first entry. The handwriting was wilder, scrawling into the margins. John’s. Noticing Dean’s name, he read, 

_Dean found my box of talismans and won’t stop asking what they’re for. I’ll be dropping him and Sam off at Bobby’s tomorrow. I don’t know how much longer I can do this._

He flipped a few pages forward. _Told Dean the truth. He hasn’t spoken all day. Leaving him and Sam alone for a few days while I chase down a rugaru. Hated to tell him, but he needs to know to protect himself and Sammy._

Castiel looked back at Dean, who was lying on his stomach, a hand tucked under his pillow. Too many times he’d been in this situation: watching Dean as he slept, sometimes invading his dreams. Mending Dean’s body was the closest he’d ever been to a human; he shouldn’t be blamed for missing that intimacy. 

And Dean’s was a beautiful body, stunning—though Castiel’s face burned involuntarily to admit that to himself. It wasn’t blasphemy to think such a thing; he didn’t know why he grew so nervous. God created humans and they were good. Why couldn’t he admire them? Why had he been punished for growing so close with Dean? 

No, he knew why. Because he couldn’t just admire from afar. He wanted to learn more about Dean; he wanted to grow ever closer to him, understand him, wanted to think they were similar in many ways.

_T_ _hat_ was the problem. He should not have so much in common with a human, with Dean.

His heartbeat was quickening in his chest and he looked away. Had Dean been serious about sharing the bed? Not that he would sleep, but he was curious to know what it would feel like to lay next to him. To have Dean wrap an arm around him. Even without their bond, he still felt so drawn to this Dean. And Dean hadn’t shunned him yet; if anything, he seemed to be growing more comfortable around him. A relief, though he knew he shouldn’t be wishing for Dean to accept him, shouldn’t be wishing to be closer, physically. He was fairly certain God had not intended this sending him here. 

Still… He glanced again at Dean. He couldn’t help but wonder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _next week: the boys think the case is over, but not everything is as it seems..._
> 
> if you came back after reading ch1 last week, thank you!! and if you've just discovered this fic, hello! thank you for reading! as always, i'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments <3


	3. Feathers

As pale sunlight stretched across the motel walls, an alarm clock began beeping, drawing Castiel’s attention away from John’s journal. In bed, Dean startled awake. His eyes met Castiel’s and his hand half slid a gun out from under his pillow before he paused, rolled his eyes, and sat up. 

“Good morning, Dean,” Castiel said. Sam stirred awake as Dean slapped the alarm clock into silence. 

“Morning,” Dean grumbled, rubbing his eyes. “Who set the alarm for 6?”

“Figured we’d get an early start on the case Bobby sent us,” Sam said, pushing back the covers on his bed. 

“Fucking ‘course,” Dean muttered, also getting up, though more slowly and with more complaining than Sam.

The night had passed quickly for Castiel, reading through John’s journal, mulling over God’s words to him after he'd been resurrected. Regrettably, he had come to the conclusion that God was right about one thing: following the Winchesters had gotten him killed. And so quickly. Surely that must mean something; surely that meant he had chosen the wrong path. But it had felt so right to choose Dean. It still felt so right.

Sighing and shutting John’s journal, he stood and resolved to think of it all later. These heavy thoughts didn’t match the mood of the room. Bright sunlight filtered through the gauzy white curtains, music crackled through the alarm clock radio. Sam and Dean bickered in the bathroom, crowding around the one sink. Going to the bed Dean had slept in, Castiel touched the clothing Dean had snatched from his duffel bag and tossed onto the covers. A dark blue button down shirt, with a worn collar. Very soft.

Dean’s phone on the nightstand started ringing and Dean came out of the bathroom, toweling off his face.

“Hello?” he asked, flipping open his phone. “Yeah, this is Agent Hetfield.”

_Police_ , he mouthed to Sam, who had stuck his head out of the bathroom. As he listened to the person on the other line, he frowned. “When did you say?” Turning around, he scanned the room, then grabbed a pen from the table. Nodding as he listened to the person on the other line, he scribbled something down on the back of his hand and swore under his breath. “Alright, thanks for letting us know.” Hanging up, he threw his phone onto the bed. “Fuck!”

“What?” Sam asked, stepping out of the bathroom holding a toothbrush. 

“Eva Rodriguez is dead. Electrocution.”

“How? We burned the bones!”

“I don’t know, man! We must’ve missed something.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, then shook his head. “Fuck. Alright, I got the sister’s address.” He held up his hand with words written on it. “We gotta talk to her, see what the old guy left behind in the house.”

Sam nodded and retreated into the bathroom. “The ghost is still active?” Castiel asked.

Dean glanced at him as he pulled the blue long sleeve over his t-shirt. “Seems like.”

“Does this happen often?”

“What? That we suck at our jobs?” 

“No, that’s not what I meant—”

Dean shook his head as he sat on the bed to pull on his boots. “Sometimes the ghost’s spirit isn’t tied to its bones, but to something the person owned when alive. We have to find whatever the object is and burn it.” He stood and called, “Hurry up, Sam.”

**·•·•·•·**

“She thinks we’re electricians,” Sam muttered to Dean as they walked to the front porch of Natalia’s house.

“I’ll figure something out,” Dean whispered back. Castiel hung back as Dean knocked on the door. The car ride over had been tense, both Sam and Dean silent. Nothing was ever easy, it seemed, in their lives. Even a quick salt and burn, as Dean had called it, had complications.

The front door opened and Dean put on a smile that Castiel could tell was forced. “Hi, Natalia. I don’t know if you remember us from yesterday?”

Natalia stood with her hand on the door knob, separated from them by a screen door. Even with the barrier, Castiel felt her sadness wash over him like a wave, similar to the emotions he’d felt from Eva yesterday. It was overwhelming, and he nearly stepped forward to lift a hand, soothe her grief with his grace. Instead, he clenched his hand into a fist. 

Natalia nodded, a look of confusion on her face. “You’re the electricians?”

“Yeah, that’s it. We heard about what happened to Eva and the county sent us over to ask you a few questions.”

“Oh.” Natalia visibly slumped. “Now’s not really the best time…”

“We’re so sorry to be intruding,” Sam said, “But it’s really important. We’ll be quick.”

Natalia sighed, then nodded. “Come in.” 

Inside, she led them into a living room. Sam and Dean took a seat on a couch, and Castiel hesitated over where to go before sitting next to Dean, their legs pressed together in the narrow space. Dean glanced at him and shifted away a little. 

“Do you, um,” Natalia wrung her hands. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“No thanks,” Sam said. “Again, we’re sorry to bother you. You’re the one who found Eva, right?” Natalia nodded. “Can you tell us where you found her?”

Natalia sat down on an armchair across from them. “She was in the living room. She hadn’t been answering my calls all day and when I went over, she was… she was just lying there. And now they’re calling it electrocution—I thought you fixed everything.”

“We thought so too,” Dean said. “But the wiring must’ve been different in that room, it’s a tricky situation—I have a question. You said your father died in the house, right?” 

Castiel winced a little at the abrupt change of subject. Sam nudged Dean with his elbow and, frowning a little, Natalia nodded. 

“He must’ve left a lot of stuff behind,” Dean guessed, more as a statement than a question.

“Um, I don’t see how that relates to Eva…?”

“Fire hazard,” Sam cut in. “We have to know if the attic is stocked full with stuff. You know, in case some wires get crossed and start a fire.”

“Oh. I see.” She shook her head. “No, he didn’t have much. Everything was put in storage when he went to the hospital. He was only living with Eva and Robert for a few days before he passed. It happened very fast, they didn’t have time to bring over any of his clothing or personal items.”

“So there’s nothing your father owned in the house?” Dean pressed.

“I don’t think so.”

Dean and Sam glanced at each other. “Well, um, thank you, Natalia, for your time,” Sam said. “And, again, we’re sorry for your loss. We’ll get going.”

“That’s all?” Natalia asked, as Sam and Dean rose to their feet, Castiel following suit. “Will you be fixing the electrical in the house? I don’t want there to be a fire or for anyone else to get hurt.”

“Right, yeah,” Dean said. “Do you have a key to the house we could use? We can go in later and check everything out. In the meantime, no one else should go in there.”

  
  


When they said their goodbyes and Natalia shut the door behind them, Dean swore. “What the fuck, man?” he asked Sam.

“I don’t know,” Sam said. Castiel followed them as they headed to the Impala parked on the curb. 

“No, I mean it, what the fuck? No items the guy owned in the house? Ghosts can’t just stick around for no reason. We torched the right bones.”

“Maybe it wasn’t the dad. Maybe someone else died in the house before Eva and her husband moved in.”

“Or maybe it’s not a ghost,” Dean said, resting his forearms on the roof of the car. “Maybe this was just some freak coincidence.”

“You really believe that?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know what to believe.” Fiddling with his keys, he said, “I’ll drop you off at the morgue. Check to see if this really was a ghost killing. Maybe we’ll get lucky for once, and they were wrong about the electrocution and Eva died of a stroke or something. I’ll go to the library and dig up some records, see if anyone died bloody in the house.”

Sam nodded and Castiel spoke up, “What about me?”

Dean glanced at him. “You can come with me.”

**·•·•·•·**

They dropped Sam off at the morgue and Dean turned out of the parking lot. “And here I thought we were stuck with a simple case,” he muttered. His frustration was rolling off of him and Castiel clenched his hands into fists again to resist the urge to help, to soothe. “First Dad disappears,” Dean continued, as if speaking to himself, “then Sam starts getting visions. Now apparently God’s sending us angels. Nothing’s simple anymore.”

Funnily enough, Castiel felt the same about his own life. “It does seem your life is more complicated than most,” he offered.

“Like you care,” Dean scoffed. “You angels are always watching us—you see plenty of people die and get ripped to shreds, hearts fried. And none of you winged bastards ever do a single thing about it, just watch it happen because ‘angels don’t get involved’.”

He wasn’t wrong. Even knowing all the reasons why he had to remain distanced, why he shouldn’t interfere in human lives, Castiel still felt sick to his stomach as he met Dean’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

Pressing his mouth in a thin line, Dean glared out the windshield. “I’m glad. I’m glad you didn’t know about me and Sam until recently. Because if you’d been watching us all this time, watching what my dad and Sam went through, I’d have to kick your ass.”

Castiel’s chest tightened. “I’m sorry, Dean,” he said, staring down at his hands. He was, truly. He didn't want to say it aloud, but Dean’s complaints weren’t very different than ones he’d so often had. Why let humans suffer? Why stand back and watch?

The only difference between Dean’s questioning and his own was that he wasn’t allowed to voice his doubts, to have doubts at all. His superiors had always told him to be patient. To wait for the time of the Apocalypse. When all suffering on Earth would end, because the Earth would be no more. When, finally put to rest, all innocent souls in Heaven would never feel pain again—the pain Eva felt, the pain Natalia, and Sam, Dean, and Dean’s father had felt.

“It’s not easy watching life on Earth and not being able to interfere,” he started, then hesitated, wanting to say more but afraid of what would come out. In the future, Dean had told him destroying the Earth wasn’t the answer. That humans deserved to live their own lives, even painful ones. He wondered what the Dean in front of him would say, given the choice.

Dean was gripping the steering wheel tightly with one hand, the other clenched into a fist on his thigh, and Castiel could see the rigidness in his shoulders, as if a wall had come up between them. 

“Dean,” he said, because he couldn't stay silent, not when he could feel Dean’s anger and pain radiating off of him. 

Dean didn't look at him, but Castiel felt him tense when he reached forward to touch his shoulder. “I promise, had I been watching, I would’ve done all I could to ensure you didn't have to go through any of the horrible things you went through. I mean that, truly.” Maybe that was wrong for him to say, at least by Heaven’s standards, but he knew it was true.

Dean nodded curtly and Castiel withdrew his hand. After a long moment, Dean said, “Thanks,” and Castiel nodded. 

“How can I help now?” he asked.

“Not much you can do. I’m the one who screwed this up. I thought for sure it was the bones. Maybe if I’d stopped and thought for a goddamn second, I would’ve realized nothing’s ever that easy.”

Not just frustration, Castiel realized. “You feel guilty,” he said. Perhaps Dean didn't have the same tact as Sam in reassuring grieving people, but he did care, that much was obvious. Cared as much as he did in the future, felt that he needed to protect everyone. That’s why Dean stood up to the angels in the first place, wasn’t it? To protect the world, to protect everyone who didn’t have a say in their fates.

Dean glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “What?”

“You think it’s your fault that Eva died.”

“No, what?” Dean scoffed and looked back at the road. “I mean, yeah, it’s our fault we didn’t get rid of the ghost.” His eyes flicked to Castiel’s again. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Fucking staring at me like that.”

Castiel raised his hands. “I’m sorry, your emotions are just very strong, they’re hard to ignore.”

Dean cocked an eyebrow. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“I can sense when humans are feeling a strong emotion.” He leaned forward again, studying Dean and the twist and muddle of emotions coming from him. Dean stiffened. “At the moment, I’m sensing frustration and guilt from you. What is the phrase? You ‘wear your heart on your sleeve’.” 

“Alright, stop ‘sensing.’ It’s freaky. I’m just pissed we let a fucking ghost get the better of us. I don’t need a shrink.”

“I understand.” Castiel leaned back. “I will refrain from commenting on it, but I’m afraid I can’t ‘stop sensing’.” He scrunched his fingers in a gesture he’d learned from watching humans and Dean snorted. “What?”

“Did you really just use air quotes?” Dean asked.

“Yes? Is that what they’re called?”

“You don’t even know? Weirdo.” The corner of his mouth was twitching in a smile, though. Castiel didn’t understand what Dean found so amusing about a common gesture, but he let the subject drop, glad to see Dean at least less tense than moments before.

When they entered the library, Dean asked for housing records at the front desk and the young woman sitting there led them to a room on the second floor. 

“All our records are here,” she said, gesturing to the file cabinets crowding the small space. “Everything’s organized alphabetically.” She hesitated in the doorway. “Let me know if I can help with anything else.”

Dean smiled at her. “Thanks, will do, Olivia.” 

The woman frowned a little, then she glanced down at the nametag on her sweater and Castiel thought her face reddened a little. Nodding quickly, she walked away. 

Dean watched her go, then turned back to Castiel. “What’d you sense from her?” he asked. “She giving off anything? She into me?”

“I’m not sure,” Castiel said, surprised by the question. He glanced in the direction Olivia had left. “If she was, her attraction wasn’t strong enough to pull my attention. Why do you ask?” Dean rolled his eyes. “Oh. You were interested in her.”

“Uh, yeah.” Dean opened a cabinet drawer with a harsh screech. “You didn’t think she was hot?”

Castiel frowned. “Objectively, yes, she was attractive.”

“You’re worse than Sam,” Dean said, thumbing through the files in the cabinet. “So lame.” He pulled out a yellow folder. “Alright, let’s see what we have here.”

Opening the folder, he laid it on a table in the middle of the room, and Castiel leaned over his shoulder to see the pages. 

“Here’s the Rodriguezes.” Dean ran his finger down a list of names and dates, then fished in his jacket pocket. “Let me write these down.”

“I can memorize them,” Castiel said. 

Dean glanced at him and Castiel realized how close they were standing. He could see the light freckles along Dean’s nose and cheeks. “Uh, alright,” Dean said. 

Pulling his gaze from Dean, Castiel scanned the list, committing the names and dates to memory, then nodded. Dean put the folder back in the cabinet. “Shit, we need to bring angels along on cases more often. Don’t become a hunter, or you’ll put Sammy and me out of a job.”

“I wouldn’t,” Castiel said, following him out of the room. “Though hunting is intriguing work.”

Scanning the room, Dean started towards a row of computers. “Yeah, maybe. Guess that’s one way of putting it.”

“You don’t enjoy it?”

Dean shrugged. “I do. For the most part.” He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. “Some days, when real fucked up shit happens, I wonder what it’d be like to not know about all the crap that goes on. To have some normal life.” He laughed a little, nervously, and glanced at Castiel. “Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

“I won’t,” Castiel promised, enjoying the idea of having a secret with Dean. He wondered if the Dean he knew in the future felt the same way about being a hunter. 

Using one of the computers, Dean scanned through records of deaths in the county. Castiel sat next to him on a squeaking wheeled chair and, when Dean asked, told him the names and dates he’d memorized.

As more time passed, Dean’s frown grew deeper, every search failing to turn up any record of a gruesome death in the house, of anyone who could’ve become the ghost that haunted Eva and her husband. 

“Everyone freaking died of strokes and old age,” Dean muttered, scrolling through the list. His frustration was mounting again, Castiel could tell, studying his profile. Even if Dean sometimes imagined a “normal life,” it was evident hunting was his calling. Not only was he very knowledgeable, he was very committed to the job, to each case. It was an admirable trait.

His eyes fell to the dark brown, worn-out leather jacket Dean was wearing. It was a bit too large for him, and he wondered why Dean wore it. It worried him, the thought of never knowing. There was so much about Dean he wanted to learn. He scanned Dean’s face again, studied his long eyelashes, the smattering of freckles on his face. Yes, he could be very annoying, but Castiel couldn’t really blame him. He couldn’t imagine the shock it must’ve been to learn angels existed. Besides, Dean’s insolence was, he had to admit, endearing at times. 

“Like what you see?” 

With a start, Castiel realized Dean was watching him. He felt himself flush.

Dean grinned. “Or are you memorizing my face?”

“No, I, um, it’s your soul. It’s very fascinating.” That wasn’t a lie. He just hadn’t been looking at Dean’s soul at the moment.

The grin faltered on Dean’s face and he looked a little taken aback. “You can see my soul?”

“Yes.” Lifting his hand, Castiel hesitated, then, giving in to the impulse he’d had last night, he reached towards Dean’s chest, fingertips brushing Dean’s black t-shirt. “It’s very… compelling.” 

Dean froze, watching him. Soft voices came from the others in the library, gentle clacking on keyboards and the rasp of sliding pages. Letting his gaze sink beneath Dean’s skin, Castiel saw a glow, felt a familiar tug as his grace reached inward to Dean’s soul. "I can sense human souls with my grace," he explained. "When I'm close, like now, I can feel their power, even touch them."

He wouldn’t touch Dean’s soul now, of course; he knew a human would only experience the sensation as pain. But to be this close, closer than he’d been since pulling Dean from Hell… It felt natural, like a relief, like his grace was intended to bond with Dean’s soul. A unique magnetism that he didn't experience with any other souls.

Dean inhaled sharply. “Do you feel that?” Castiel whispered, meeting his eyes. He’d thought this pull from Dean’s soul only existed in the future because he had taken hold of it in Hell, bonded his grace to it. He hadn’t thought he’d feel so captivated now.

Dean’s eyes were wide as he nodded, some emotion in them that Castiel couldn’t place. Searching Dean’s face, he saw the Dean who studied him so intently in the future, the one he felt so drawn to. So, Dean could feel the pull too. He caught the way Dean’s tongue flicked out to wet his lips and met his gaze again, trying to discern the swirl of emotions he sensed from him. A mixture of confusion and… longing? 

A little shocked, Castiel pulled his hand away, and Dean blinked and broke their gaze. He let out a breathy laugh, one hand rising to his chest where Castiel had touched him. “That was, uh… was that you touching my soul?”

“Not touching it, just getting near it.”

Dean watched him for a moment before looking away and shutting off the computer. “You sure got a weird way of flirting, Cas.”

“I wasn’t flirting…” His voice trailed off.

Dean’s eyes flicked to his. “Well, uh—” Pushing back his chair, he stood and gestured to the computer. “We got bupkis here so I guess this was a bust.”

Castiel stood. “What now?” he asked, feeling a little rattled. The longing he'd felt from Dean... it felt familiar, it felt like the sensation rising in his own chest when he was near Dean, when he watched him sleep, when he studied his soul.

“See if Sammy got good news at the morgue, I guess.” Dean snapped his fingers. “That’s right, Sam wanted me to find some books on angels, the nerd.” He led the way towards a labyrinth of aisles. “Let’s go, Junkless, we gotta hurry up, or Sam will get all pissy.” He stopped to study a sign which listed where every subject was located, then plunged down another aisle, scanning the shelves. 

Castiel hurried to catch up with him. “I don’t understand what you mean by that term.”

Dean glanced back at him. “What? Oh. You know.” He gestured to Castiel and Castiel tilted his head, frowning. “You don’t have any… parts.”

“I’m in a vessel, Dean. I do have genitalia.”

Dean grimaced. “Ugh, keep it down.” He glanced around them and Castiel followed suit, but no one was anywhere nearby.

“My apologies,” he said, though he wasn’t sure why Dean was acting so offended. It seemed the more he learned about Dean, the less he understood him.

Dean continued deeper down the aisle, pulling out a book a bit from its row, then pushing it back in. “If you’re not junkless,” he asked, “you ever get it on with humans?” Abruptly, he stopped and turned around to look at Castiel. Nearly bumping into him, Castiel stepped back, irritated. “Or is that not allowed?”

“I’m not sure.” Of course the offspring between a human and angel was forbidden, but just the sexual act? He tried to remember if he’d ever heard of an angel being punished for such a thing. No, but, “I doubt it’s encouraged.”

“Cool.” Dean was watching him and Castiel realized suddenly what he was insinuating. He felt the back of his neck heat, warmth rising into his cheeks. He had never realized blushing was such a common occurrence in a vessel.

Dean took a step closer and, despite the nervous flutter in his chest, Castiel stayed still, looking up at him. “So, do you have a type, or…?”

“I don’t know.” That was the truth, but recently—especially at this moment with the way his heart was beating faster—he’d begun to suspect his type might include Dean. A twinge of fear ran through him, admitting it to himself, but—he reminded himself—his superiors weren’t watching, didn’t know his thoughts. Maybe God was watching. If he was, and Castiel hoped he wasn’t—he must not care that Castiel hadn’t exactly been thinking charitable thoughts towards him. He hadn't pulled Castiel back to the future yet.

Holding Dean’s gaze, deciding he may as well see where this went, Castiel asked, “Am I yours?”

Dean faltered, taking half a step back. “I don’t usually go for angels,” he said, recovering. “But I could make an exception.” 

He touched Castiel’s waist and Castiel felt his breath snag. Signs of attraction—he could identify them in humans. He’d never experienced them himself so strongly.

“You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it,” Dean said, keeping his voice quiet.

“I—” Now was Castiel’s time to falter. He hadn’t thought about it, or maybe he had, but vaguely. Hadn’t really considered it a possibility until now, hadn’t thought Dean would ever be interested in him in this way.

Dean held his gaze. “You said you wanted to experience more human things, right?”

He had said that, hadn’t he? Or at least implied it. “Yes,” he said, a little breathless. 

Slowly, Dean slid his hands to Castiel’s waistband, and Castiel watched as he unbuttoned his pants. When he inhaled sharply at Dean’s hands on his skin, Dean grinned at him. “I kinda like seeing you squirm. It’s a good look.”

He hooked a finger under Castiel’s waistband and Castiel looked around. “Here?” No one was in sight, but he could still hear the tapping of keyboards from the computers, low voices from the reading spaces.

“Why wait? You’ve already wasted so much time.”

“I wouldn’t call it wasted,” Castiel protested, but he watched as Dean tugged his pants open. Dean’s fingers brushed over his clothed cock, already half hard, and Castiel stiffened.

“Wow, you really aren’t junkless,” Dean said.

“I told you,” Castiel said, clenching his hands to hide how they’d begun to shake. Dean smirked as he got on his knees in front of him. Castiel had watched enough human intercourse to know where this was going. He looked around again, nervous despite himself, though he couldn’t deny his curiosity to experience this instead of merely observing. 

He looked down at Dean, who he realized was watching him. “This alright?” Dean asked.

Perhaps he should say no. Not only might this be against Heaven’s rules, but God had sent him here to learn a lesson, not…. do this. Dean watched him wordlessly. His eyes were very green, Castiel noticed for not the first time. 

“Cas?” Dean prompted, pulling him from his thoughts. Castiel blinked. He liked that nickname. 

He nodded. “I’m alright. You can—I want this.”

Dean grinned. “I’ll take it slow,” he said, and Castiel nodded again.

Holding his breath, he watched Dean take his cock out, wrapping his palm around his length and lightly stroking him. A soft sound escaped from his throat as he hardened at Dean’s touch. A mischievous look crossing his face, Dean caught his eye before licking up his length. 

A jolt ran through Castiel at the sensation and he leaned back on the shelving, making it creak. Before he could recover, Dean took him in his mouth and Castiel felt his legs tremble. He gripped the shelf behind him and tried not to make a noise as Dean sucked him down deeper, one hand around the base of his cock.

He’d seen humans do this many times and wondered why they did it so often. Now he understood. Sensations coursed through him, pleasurable ones, ones he’d never experienced before. His eyes fell shut as Dean took him deeper, the wet warmth of his mouth overwhelming his thoughts, then the sound of footsteps snapped his eyes back open. Someone was coming. 

“Dean,” he whispered, though he really, really, didn’t want Dean to stop. Dean’s eyes flitted up to his, wide under his lashes, and Castiel’s breath caught in his throat. A frown creased Dean’s forehead and he started to pull off him as the footsteps grew louder. They didn’t have any time.

Quickly, Castiel touched Dean’s shoulder, extended his wings, and flew them to the closest private place he could find. 

They landed in a pale-lighted bathroom and Dean scrambled to his feet. 

“Holy fuck—shit!” Wildly, he spun around, wiping his chin on his sleeve. A single stall bathroom, thankfully, so they were alone. Castiel let out a sigh of relief and dropped his head back against the wall. 

“What the hell—did you do this?” Wheeling on him, Dean stared at him, his eyes wide, and Castiel looked back, surprised at his reaction.

“Someone was coming.”

“And?” Grimacing, Dean pressed a hand to his stomach like he was nauseous. “Did we teleport here?”

“No, we flew. I’m sorry. I know it can be disconcerting, but I...” He realized it was a little absurd. “I panicked.”

“You panicked?” Dean let out a shaky laugh. “Angel of the Lord’ panicked?”

Embarrassed, Castiel nodded, his head still reeling.

“What was the worst they were gonna do? Call security?”

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

Looking less shocked and more amused now, Dean shook his head, glancing around the bathroom again, and Castiel asked, “Is that it?”

“What?” Dean looked back at him.

Castiel gestured to himself, his shirttails hanging loose, untucked from his pants. “You’re done?”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You want me to keep going?”

Castiel nodded, feeling his face heat once again. Dean stepped closer, and he tilted his head slightly to look Dean in the eyes, admitting, “I enjoyed it. Very much so.”

A slow smile spread across Dean’s face. “Can’t believe I’m corrupting an angel.”

“You’re not corrupting me—”

“Shh, Cas." He touched Castiel's hip and Castiel stilled. "Don’t ruin the moment.” He grinned at him, then knelt down in front of him on the tiles, grimacing a little at the grime.

Castiel leaned back against the wall, a tremor running down his spine as Dean took him in his mouth again. Dean shifted, one hand around Castiel's cock, the other raising to grip his thigh. Castiel fisted his hands at his sides, the slow pull of Dean's mouth overwhelming him again. He would’ve done this ages earlier had he known it’d be like this. But Dean wouldn't have been there, and he'd never wanted to be with anyone else like he wanted to be with Dean, was almost frightened by the intensity of the desire.

Dean pulled off him suddenly. “You can touch me,” he said, looking up, his bottom lip wet.

“What?” Castiel asked, a little dazed.

Rolling his eyes, Dean grabbed one of Castiel’s hands, brought it to his shoulder. “You don’t have to be so stiff.”

“Oh.” Castiel lightly gripped Dean’s leather jacket as Dean returned to him. Hesitantly, he touched the back of Dean’s neck, slid his fingers through his hair. Dean made a sound in his throat that vibrated through him. Emboldened, Castiel tugged slightly at Dean’s hair, dropping his head back against the wall as Dean moaned a little, the sound lighting a shiver through his body. 

One part of him wondered how he’d ended up here, marveled at what was happening, but the other part of him couldn’t tell up from down, too overwhelmed to hold one coherent thought in his mind. He clenched his jaw, trying to stay quiet, torn between watching Dean and shutting his eyes tight at the heat coursing through his body.

Something was building in his gut, a desperate need, and he gripped Dean’s jacket to steady himself. Dean took him deeper and Castiel couldn't stop the low groan that rose in his throat. His head was spinning, and he wondered if he should warn Dean, then the head of his cock hit the back of Dean’s throat and his orgasm hit him, and the lights blew out above them with a loud shatter.

Flinching, Dean pulled off him, swallowing hard. “Holy…” he whispered.

Castiel held onto him to keep his balance. He felt as if he was free-falling through space, exhilaratingly, dizzily.

Slowly, Dean pushed himself to his feet, brushing glass off his jacket. “You did that?” he asked, his voice hushed with something like awe. 

Castiel nodded, then realized Dean couldn’t see his face in the dark. “Yes,” he managed, finding his ability to speak. His head was steadying and the full reality of what had just happened sank into his chest. A smile crept onto his face.

Dean laughed quietly. “Holy shit.” A yellow glow sprung to life in his hand, and Castiel realized Dean had opened up his phone. “Are you alright?” he asked, his face illuminated in the pale light. 

“More than alright.” Still stunned, overwhelmed with it all, that this could happen to him, with Dean. 

He held his gaze and Dean shifted imperceptibly closer, as if they were pulled together. Castiel saw the moment when Dean’s eyes fell to his mouth, his heartbeat quickening in turn, then Dean’s phone vibrated, startling them both.

“Fuck.” Dean muttered, looking down at it.

“What’s wrong?” With a snap of his fingers, the room lit up again, the lights restored. 

Dean swore, shielding his eyes from the bright lights. “Give a guy a warning, will ya?”

“Sorry.” Castiel buttoned up his pants with shaky fingers as Dean sent a text.

“It’s Sammy, he called like a dozen times. He’s done at the coroners.” Dean snapped his phone closed. “We should go.”

“But what about you?”

Dean frowned, then the confusion on his face melted into a grin. “You wanna blow me?”

“Yes.” Taking a step forward, Castiel lifted his hand to touch Dean’s face.

Swallowing hard, Dean broke their gaze, looking down and rubbing his hand over his mouth. “Right, uh, maybe later. Listen, um, don’t, don’t mention this to Sam.”

Castiel tilted his head, regarding him. “Why?”

Dean waved his hand as if annoyed with his scrutiny. “He’ll just be annoying about it.” Reaching out, he smoothed Castiel’s shirt. “It can be our secret, ya know?”

“Alright.” Another secret with Dean. He felt strangely proud.

“Okay, cool.” Dean sounded relieved. He gestured to Castiel. “You might wanna fix yourself up. You look like a mess.” 

“That isn’t very polite,” Castiel said, but he sighed and reset his appearance with a tired wave of his hand. 

“So cool,” Dean said under his breath, watching him. Then he shook his head. “Alright, let’s go.”

  
  


“What the hell took you guys so long?” Sam asked, wrenching the door open and folding himself into the backseat when they arrived at the morgue.

“Sorry, Sammy, you know how it goes, get lost in the research.” Dean was smiling, but his eyes slid over to meet Castiel’s in a nervous manner.

Sam glanced between them, but let it drop, sinking back against the seat with a huff and crossing his arms. “I was standing out there forever. And it was a ghost. Same burn marks on her chest as her husband. EMF readings and everything.”

“Shit,” Dean muttered, pulling away from the curb.

“You find anything out at the library?”

“No. No record of any violent deaths in the house.”

“Then where’s this ghost coming from?”

“I don’t know. I’ve got no clue.”

**·•·•·•·**

“Could be a poltergeist,” Sam said.

Dean lay diagonally across the bed, staring at the motel room ceiling. “Nope. Natalia and Eva didn’t mention anything about bumps in the night.”

“Some malevolent spirit connected to the town?”

“Maybe.” Sighing, Dean sat up and rubbed at his eyes. “Got any ideas, Cas?”

“No. I’m sorry.” He went over the case in his head, the names, the dates. First Robert, then Eva. None of it made sense. If the grandpa wasn’t the ghost, then who was it? 

Coming over to the table, Dean grabbed the fast food bag they’d gotten before returning to the motel. The sky outside was dark. Before returning to the motel, they had swept through Eva's house with the EMF reader, but the readings were all over the place and the ghost never showed, so they'd left with no clear idea of what was tying the ghost to the house.

For hours now, Sam and Dean had gone through John’s journal and searched news stories online. Still, nothing that explained why people were dying in the Rodriguez house. Castiel wished he could help, but he truly had no clue. 

“We could always torch the whole place.” Dean shoved a handful of fries in his mouth. “No one can die in there if there’s no house.”

Sam didn’t look up from his laptop. “You already have a rap sheet. Let’s not get arson on your record too.”

“Just saying.” Dean dropped the bag back on the table. “This fucking sucks. It could be anything.”

“Yeah, you said it.”

A phone started ringing and Dean turned, looking around, then fetched his phone from the nightstand in between the beds. 

“Hey, Bobby,” he said, opening it. Pushing a button, he set it on the table. “Got any news for us?”

“If this Castiel is an angel, you boys are the first to ever see one in a long time,” came a tinny voice from the phone’s speaker. “No hunter I’ve spoken to has heard anything about angels actually existing. Guess you could talk to some demons to get more information, but I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“That would not be a good idea,” Castiel spoke up.

“Yeah, uh, Cas says no to that one. He’s right here if you wanna talk to him.” Dean stepped back and gestured to Castiel.

“Um.” Castiel glanced at Dean, then leaned closer to the phone. “Hello.”

“So you’re the angel from the future, huh?” Bobby asked. “You the real thing?”

“Yes, I’m an angel. We’ve met, in the future. You own a salvage yard in South Dakota. You have quite an impressive panic room in your basement.”

“A panic room?” Dean muttered aside to Sam, who shrugged.

Castiel continued, “And you own quite a few books on angel lore. I’m sure you’ve read about my more famous fellow angels, the archangels.” 

There was a long pause, then, from the phone, “Well, shit.”

“Think it’s fair to say he’s the real deal,” Dean spoke up. Castiel glanced at him. So, Dean did believe him. He’d hoped as much by now, but it was a relief all the same to hear him admit it aloud. “And we got a more pressing problem to take care of.”

A sigh, then, “What now?”

“We’re in Monroe, Wisconsin. Thought we were hunting a ghost, but now we’re not so sure.” Picking up his phone, he brought it to his ear and walked away, continuing to tell Bobby about the case. 

Castiel went to Sam’s side, looking at the webpage he was scrolling through. “Have you found anything?”

Sam threw up his hands, then dropped them in his lap. “Nothing. The house wasn’t built on any native burial grounds, no freak electrocution deaths anywhere else in town. Any of the items in the house could be tied to a ghost, if it is a ghost. I don’t know how we’re supposed to pinpoint one item.”

“Alright, bye,” Castiel heard Dean say and looked up to see Dean shut his phone. Meeting his eyes, Dean shrugged. “Bobby said he’ll do his own research. But, I don’t know. If we don’t get any new info, we’re gonna have to burn the place down.”

“Great,” Sam said with a sigh, shutting his laptop. “Has Dad gotten back to you?” Dean shook his head and Sam rolled his eyes. Standing, he said, “Well, I’m beat, I’m going to bed.”

“Already?” Dean glanced at the clock. “It’s only 11.”

“Yeah, and I’m tired.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Well, I’m not. What I need is a drink. We passed a bar on our way here, we should hit it up.”

“You’re an alcoholic,” Sam muttered.

“What’d you say to me?”

“I said, you’re gonna die of liver failure before 50.”

“Aw, Sammy, I appreciate the optimism. I always figured a werewolf or ghoul would get me before I was 40.” Grabbing his jacket, Dean pulled it on. “You coming, Cas? Or are you an old person like Sam?”

“I am very old,” Castiel started.

“He doesn’t even drink,” Sam spoke up.

“Well, I do, so...” Dean picked up his keys. “Adios.”

“I’ll come with you,” Castiel decided. 

“See, Sam?” Dean opened the motel door. “When angels are less lame than you, you got a problem.” Grinning, he shut the door behind them as Sam flipped him off. 

The street lamps in the parking lot made the Impala gleam. Castiel realized, suddenly, what this could mean, the two of them together alone.

“Come on, Feathers,” Dean called, heading to the car. “We’re driving there, not flying.”

His heart thumping, Castiel followed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next week: Castiel and Dean get to spend some time together..._
> 
> hope you're enjoying the story so far :)


	4. An Angel and a Hunter Walk into a Bar

The bar that Dean drove them to was situated back from the road, next to an overpass. Several cars were parked outside in the gravel lot, and Dean pulled in next to a beat-up, red pickup truck. 

The door creaked when they walked inside. Several people sat on stools at the bar along the right wall, others at tables scattered around the room. Some people seemed to be playing a game involving sticks at a few long, green-felted tables in the back.

Dean ordered a beer at the bar, sitting down on one of the stools. Castiel glanced around the warm-lighted room, music obscuring the conversations around them, then back to the bar where the bartender, a dark haired woman with multiple piercings on her face, set a beer down in front of Dean.

“What are they doing?” he asked, pointing to the felted tables in the back.

Dean looked over his shoulder, then back at him. “Playing pool.” So that was the game Sam and Dean played. “You never played?”

“No.”

“'Course not." Grabbing his beer, Dean stood. "Alright, come on, I’ll teach you. Time to experience more human shit.” Castiel followed him to one of the tables. “This is essential, ‘case you ever end up a few dollars short of gas money.”

“Do you make a lot of money from playing this game?”

“Depends on the bets you’re making. But that’s a whole ‘nother topic. First, you actually gotta know how to play.”

Grabbing two sticks from a stand, he handed one to Castiel, then grouped together the balls on the table, enclosing them with a wooden triangle. 

“Name of the game is to get the balls into the pockets.” Castiel looked at the holes on the sides and corners of the table. Lifting up the triangle, Dean winked at Castiel. “Fair warning, I’ve been doing this since I was old enough to see above the table.”

Taking up one of the sticks, he rubbed chalk on the end of it, then set a plain white ball on the table. “I’m gonna start the game by breaking the rack. You hit this white cue ball to knock the others into the pockets.”

Castiel nodded and watched, as leaning over the table, Dean demonstrated. The formation of balls scattered across the table with a crack, two rolling into the pockets. 

“So I sunk two solid ones,” Dean said. “Which means you’re trying to get the striped ones into the pockets.” Moving around the table, he said, “And I’ll miss one on purpose, so it becomes your turn. This is a practice round, capiche?”

“Um, capiche.”

Dean struck the cue ball and it knocked a solid ball into the side of the table. Straightening, Dean gestured to Castiel. “You go now.”

Scanning the table, Castiel tried to decide which ball to try to knock into a pocket. Choosing one numbered 10, he moved to the other side of the table.

Trying to replicate how Dean had held the cue, he eyed the cue ball and Dean asked, “Are you right-handed or left-handed?”

Castiel stared at his hands. “I don’t know. Both? I think Jimmy was right-handed.”

“Okay, well, take your pick then.” He moved to Castiel’s side, and said, “Brace one hand on the table.” Castiel placed his right hand on the table and Dean moved his other arm so the cue stick rested between his thumb and index finger. “Hold the cue more level. And loosen your grip.”

“Like this?” Castiel asked, shifting his hand.

“No.” He tapped Castiel’s arm holding the base of the cue, and Castiel lowered his elbow. He met Dean’s eyes and Dean nodded. The light fixture above the table made the warm flecks in Dean’s eyes more prominent, and suddenly Castiel was thinking of standing close to Dean in the library. His heartbeat sped up, realizing how close Dean was standing, his eyes falling to the curve of Dean’s mouth. He wondered if Dean had meant it when he said, “maybe later.” 

At the crack of another game of pool, Dean looked away, stepping back. Castiel realized he’d been holding his breath. 

“There you go,” Dean said. Picking up his beer from a nearby tabletop, he leaned on the table. “Go on, take the shot. Aim for the center.”

Pulling his attention back to the game, Castiel tried to remember how Dean had done it. Drawing back the cue as Dean had shown him, he hit the cue ball, knocking it forward against the 10-ball. It rolled forward and dropped into a corner pocket.

Smiling, he straightened and Dean nodded. “See, you’re getting the hang of it.” Nodding at the bar, grinning, he said, “Think the bartender’s checking you out.”

“Why?” Castiel looked back at the bar, where the woman was pouring a drink. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, you freak. I meant—” He waved his hand dismissively. “Never mind. It's your turn again.”

They played until Dean won, then started another game, and Castiel was pleased to see he was getting the hang of it. It was a game of logic and lines, foreseeing the outcomes; he could manage this. 

“How the fuck are you so good at this?” Dean muttered as Castiel sunk another ball. “You’re not using any of your powers, are you?”

“I don’t have any pool-playing powers,” Castiel said eyeing the 8-ball. “I’m not even sure what those would be.” Striking the cue ball, he knocked the 8-ball into a pocket and grinned at Dean. “I win.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Next time we’re running low on cash, I’m sending you out here to play. All you gotta do is find the rowdiest people, usually the drunkest, pretend to be drunker than them, and you’re golden.”

“That’s how you make money?” Castiel asked. “By deception?”

“Shh, keep your voice down,” Dean said, looking around them. “Deception, no. It’s taking advantage of the fact that drunk idiots will make big bets. It’s a skillset.” He glanced down at the bottle in his hand and waggled it. “I need another drink.”

“I enjoy being here in the past,” Castiel said, following him to the bar and sitting down on one of the sticky stools. Dean motioned to the bartender. “I enjoy being in places like this, getting to partake in human activities. It’s quiet, peaceful.”

“Quiet?” Dean smiled at the bartender as she slid him another beer and one to Castiel.

Castiel waited until she walked away to say, “Normally, I can hear the other angels speaking to each other, asking for help, giving orders. Every second of every day. Future you calls it angel radio, I believe. But I’m not hearing it anymore.”

Dean drank from his beer. “That’s gotta get super annoying.”

Castiel hummed in agreement. “I can turn it down, or turn it off. It’s not usually so loud, but recently with… certain events, our communication has been very chaotic. Mainly about you and your brother.”

“Me and Sammy causing you and the other angels trouble?”

“You can’t imagine. You’re causing lots of headaches.” Dean grinned. “It’s not you so much who is the problem, though. It’s the other angels, my superiors.”

“What’d they do?”

“That’s the problem. All they’re doing is carrying out God’s work—well, what they call God’s work. I don’t know who is forming the plans right now.” He frowned, staring at the beer bottle in front of him. “Maybe I’m the problem. I’m the one who doesn’t know what to do. The one who keeps disobeying them.” It shouldn’t be hard to obey his superiors. What had to be done had to be done, there shouldn’t be any questioning about it.

But Dean nodded. “Your 'superiors,' they’re the ones you have to decide whether to trust or not?”

“Yes. Though now I suppose it comes down to whether they can trust me. I disobeyed them already and they were quick to punish me for it. And then I did it again and they killed me.”

“Fuck.” Dean crossed his arms on the bartop. “They punished you? You get sent to Heaven detention or something? What’s that mean?”

Resounding voices, intense light, pain. Castiel rotated his beer bottle on the bartop, leaving circles of condensation behind. “Nothing good,” he answered, realizing future Dean didn’t know the particulars of his punishment either.

How could he explain to Dean—either Dean—what Heavenly punishment was like? Not in human terms, he couldn’t. Not the way his superiors’ true forms towered over him, the terror he felt at their power over him. 

“I take back what I said about your family,” Dean said, drawing him from his thoughts. “They suck. I didn’t realize angels were such dicks.”

Castiel smiled a little. “I’m afraid we’re very different from how your earthly media depicts us. No fluffy wings or harps. No Michael Landons.”

“You know who that is?”

“You mentioned him in the future so I learned who he was. I like being aware of cultural references.”

Dean shook his head, smiling. “Weirdo.”

_Why was that weird?_ Castiel wondered. Dean seemed to know plenty of references.

“You know, you’re super strange, Cas. But you’re not so bad.” He took a drink from his beer, then admitted, setting the bottle down, “I thought you were a real dick at first.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, but you’re just clueless. And you have a stick up your ass. But overall, I guess you’re alright.”

“Thank you.” And he meant it. That was more of an admission than he’d expected out of Dean. “I appreciate that. I think you’re alright too.”

Dean laughed. “Thanks.”

Castiel smiled. He hadn’t done much to prove himself, hadn’t rescued this Dean from Hell or helped him outsmart the angels. And yet this Dean had come around to accepting him.

They sat there in comfortable silence. Music, like what Dean listened to, played from speakers on the wall. Someone stood by a jukebox in the corner, arguing with his companions sitting nearby what song to choose. 

Picking up his beer, Castiel took a hesitant sip and frowned at the shock of sensations. "I don't understand how you can drink this."

"Yeah, it's pretty shitty." Dean studied the beer label. "Pretty sure this is the first beer my Dad ever gave me."

He stared at the bottle for a long moment, and Castiel asked, "Do you know when he will return?"

"Nope." After a moment, he added, "Starting to think that even if he gets a real lead on the demon, he won't tell us. Might just hunt the son of a bitch down himself. Wish he'd let us help, I wanna be there when the demon gets smoked." Setting the bottle down with a clunk, he added, "Wanna gank it myself."

Castiel nodded and Dean glanced at him, gestured. "You should be glad he isn't here now, though. If you think I've been giving you a hard time, you don't want to see how he'd act. No way he'd trust you."

Through reading John's journal, Castiel was sure that was true. But he'd like to meet John all the same. He wanted to know how John could leave his sons for days on their own, why he didn't respond to their calls, why he sent Dean on solo hunts to prove himself, why he hated the idea of Sam making his own choices and leaving for college. "I think the feeling would be mutual."

Dean's expression hardened. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't understand why he has left you and Sam to fend for yourselves. Why he won't stay in touch with you."

"We can take care of ourselves," Dean muttered. "And anyway, you're one to talk. Not like God's always calling you up, checking in on how things are going. Right?"

"That's different—" Castiel tried, but Dean gave him a look and he cut himself off. Frustratingly, Dean was right. He couldn't condemn John's actions without also condemning his own Heavenly Father—but to do so was too profane a sin to even contemplate. "He's God," he tried again. And he was an angel. It was in his nature to worship and obey, no matter what.

"Right," Dean said, like he didn't believe Castiel truly meant what he was saying. "Just saying, don't know why you're gonna shit on my dad when you're always bending over backwards to defend some asshole in the clouds who doesn't give a fuck." Pushing off from his stool, he said, "I'm gonna go take a leak."

Castiel watched him walk away to a hallway, a neon sign over the entrance reading, _Restrooms_. Warped signage covered the barroom walls, license plates, torn posters, and framed photos. It wasn't lost on him, the absurdity of a soldier of Heaven sitting in a bar surrounded by humans.

And he was that: a soldier of Heaven. Or supposed to be one, anyway. But Dean was right. God had abandoned him and his siblings, didn't seem to care what happened to the humans. And Castiel knew he didn't have the depth of wisdom of God or his omniscience, but it couldn't be right, God's disregard for the world he'd created. But what was Castiel supposed to do? How could he fight against God or his superiors?

Returning his gaze to the beer on the bartop in front of him, a queasiness churned in his stomach at the thought of Dean’s question, about his punishment in Heaven. 

He wondered what this Dean would say if he told him everything. It’d been foolish, in hindsight. Had he really thought his doubts would go unnoticed by his superiors? Or his plan to tell Dean the truth about Heaven’s plans—that Lilith was the final seal, that the angels were manipulating the Winchesters to start the apocalypse? He’d been foolish to think he could deceive the other angels. 

Shifting in his seat, he fiddled with the label pulling away from the sweating bottle in front of him. A nervous sensation was filling his chest as he remembered his panic upon seeing the other angels surround him to take him back to Heaven. 

He’d thought he was so clever, appearing to Dean in a dream to give him an address to meet, to talk. But as he waited for Dean to show up at the abandoned warehouse, Zachariah had appeared with several other angels. And Castiel had known he was caught, known he was trapped, but he fought anyway, until they forcibly ripped his grace from Jimmy’s vessel and dragged him to Heaven. Trapped him and pinned his wings, brought him before his superiors, berated him over and over—

The bottle in his hand shattered and he startled. “I’m sorry,” he said to the bartender, who came over with a towel and a frown. He hadn’t realized he’d been clenching the bottle in his hand.

“Are you alright?” she asked. 

Castiel looked at the glass stuck in his palm and pulled it to his lap, out of sight. “I’m fine.”

“You want another one?” 

He shook his head. His heart was pounding. He waited until the bartender scooped up the broken glass, sopped up the alcohol, and moved away down the bar, before healing himself. 

He was overreacting. His punishment could’ve been much worse. He could’ve been locked away in Heaven, banned from returning to Earth. His superiors couldn’t see him now; they didn’t know that he was interacting with Dean, couldn’t see what they were doing.

Still, he clenched his hands into fists as the humiliation of his punishment swept over him. The barstool squeaked as he stood abruptly. The walls around him seemed too confining all of a sudden. 

Striding across the room, he pushed open the doors to outside and paused under the awning, breathing in deeply the cool night air. His wings stretched out almost of their own accord, but he forced himself to stay put, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. 

A streetlight flickered across the street, shining above a bus stop where someone sat slumped, a bag at their feet. A car passed by under the overpass, headlights sweeping the street. 

He’d never been the subject of so much anger from Heaven. Shame coursed through him now at the memory. His superiors surrounding him, voices thundering, 

_You don’t serve humans. You were created to serve God and Heaven alone. Will you stoop to the level of beings made from dirt? Do you dare think you know better than God, than us, that you can disrupt the divine plan? A plan you are destined to obey, to carry out?_

Every time he tried to speak, defend himself, blinding hot pain tore through his being, until he learned to keep quiet. Cowered and listened, trying desperately to remember what had ever compelled him to rebel in the first place.

Kept quiet until Naomi threatened to remove his memories of his time on Earth, of rescuing Dean from Hell. He’d begged, knelt before his superiors, folded his wings in a gesture of submission. 

_I’ve transgressed, I was wrong, I know now. I know who I serve. I’ve learned my lesson, I won’t disobey again. I can be of help, but I need to remember, please let me remember. Let me prove myself, I won’t fail you again._

And, miraculously, his superiors had agreed, had given him a second chance. Sent back to Earth, he’d been determined to keep his distance from the Winchesters, from Dean. He knew he had sinned, that he’d been swept away by lofty ideals, by pride. He could show his superiors he wasn’t fallen, not like Anna. He even helped capture Anna, watched as the other angels took her away to Heaven. To subject her to the same treatment he’d received, no doubt. Maybe worse. It didn’t matter. He was a soldier. Following orders, carrying out the greater plan.

But Dean. Dean had screamed his name for hours until Castiel couldn’t ignore him any longer and had visited him. There was nothing to say. He knew his superiors were listening. He appealed to Dean’s devotion to his own father. They weren’t so different; Dean knew obedience, knew when to keep quiet and carry out orders. The look of betrayal on Dean’s face...

Sitting down on the curb of an empty parking spot, Castiel dropped his face into his hands. He was weak. His superiors had been wrong to trust him because when everything came down to the wire, he couldn’t stand by and obey. He had sinned again. Harmed Zachariah, one of his superiors, rescued Dean, rebelled against the plan. It’d felt so thrilling. 

And yet so short-lived. He didn’t blame Raphael for killing him. It was the punishment for his crime, and he had been warned. 

But now God had given another chance. Maybe if he begged for forgiveness, cast himself at his superiors’ feet, maybe if he begged them to purge his memory. It was the only way he could stay away from Dean. 

It might be the only way to ever see Heaven again. Would he ever see Heaven again? His chest tightened at the memory of Raphael coming towards him, approaching in a burst of glaring light. He’d opened his mouth to cry out and no words left his throat. Searing pain, every fiber of his being torn apart, first physical, then his grace laid bare, exposed. Nowhere to go. 

His grace ached now at the memory and he clenched his hands into fists. The lights outside the bar flickered. His breathing felt restricted; he wanted to escape—but there was nowhere to go. God had given him this body; he hadn’t asked to be revived, remade. Too much to think about, too much to decide. 

Too late, he realized his body was hyperventilating, his grace clawing at his skin for release. 

_You’re a soldier. If you fall, you can never return._

Ducking his head down, holding it in his hands, he tried to calm down, tried to not flee. 

A door creaked behind him and then, through the blood pounding in his ears, he heard Dean call, “Cas? Hey, Cas!”

A hand gripped his arm. “Hey, what’s wrong?” 

Castiel couldn’t speak, his throat tight, words in Enochian swarming in his brain, warnings, curses. 

“It’s alright, just breathe.” A hand on his back; he focused on the weight of it. “You’re alright, just breathe.”

Shutting his eyes tight, he tried to, tried to take deep breaths instead of short gasps for air. What was happening to him? He found Dean’s hand on his arm and gripped his wrist, an anchor for the dizziness in his head. His vessel rebelling against him, trembling against the frenzied pulse of his grace.

Slowly, achingly, his body found its breath and he calmed enough to unclench his hand from Dean’s wrist. Taking a shaky breath, opening his eyes, he willed himself to not fly away, to not leave his vessel, to settle.

Dean still held onto him and, drained of all the energy that had coursed through him moments before, Castiel let his shoulders slump. “What was that?” he managed and pressed a hand to his chest. His heart was still thudding. “My body, I couldn’t, I couldn’t breathe.” His grace still pulsed, but quieter, resigned to staying in his physical form, to staying put. 

“It’s just a panic attack,” Dean said. “It’s alright, I get them too.”

Castiel raised his head to look at him. “You do?”

“Yeah, um.” He pulled his hand from Castiel’s back. “Not so much now. Just sometimes when I wake up. I get nightmares.” Looking down at his boots, he shifted, gravel crunching underfoot.

Castiel dropped his hands into his lap and stared at the black asphalt. “Being in a vessel is so difficult. I’m not used to it yet.”

“I didn’t know angels could even get panic attacks.”

“We don’t. Not normally. But my grace and this body, they’re so intertwined now.” He looked down at himself, at his still trembling hands, the blue veins crossing his wrists. All his—no human soul to share it with anymore. “I don’t know… Sometimes I feel this physicality, it’s taking over. So many new sensations I didn’t know I could feel.” Panic, anxiety, the quick pulse of his heart, the warmth along his skin when Dean touched him.

“Sorry.”

Castiel shook his head. “Just something to get used to.” He took a deep breath. “I’ll learn. I can’t let my body take so much control, I’m an angelic being, I can overpower it.”

“What happened? Why’d you leave the bar?”

Shutting his eyes for a moment, Castiel saw white, blinding light. Opening them, he said, “I was thinking. Remembering.”

“Remembering what?”

He folded his arms over his knees. “It’s very complicated.”

“Future shit?”

Despite everything, Castiel smiled a little. “Yes, future shit.” He studied the way the lights from the bar shone on the black leather of his shoes. “I don’t know what to do, Dean.”

“You’ll figure it out, Cas. I mean, you’re an angel. You gotta know what’s right and wrong.”

Startled, Castiel stared at him. The same words Dean had spoken to him in the future to convince him to reject the plan, to abandon the angels. Now, Dean looked so sure of him; in the future, Dean had looked angrier, more desperate, as if not sure which side Castiel would choose.

Ducking his head, he said, “I wish that were true.” Dean always did expect so much from him, ask for so much. How could he ever live up to all Dean thought of him? 

“How do you do it?” he asked. 

“Do what?”

Shrugging, Castiel looked at him. “Manage. When you have nightmares, when you can’t breathe.”

Dean shook his head slowly. “I don’t know.” He gestured to the bar. “Drink, I guess. And, other stuff.” He bit his lip, rotating a bracelet around his wrist. “Listen, you can’t let this shit get to you, whatever it is.” Dropping his hands to hang over his knees, he met Castiel’s eyes. “Monsters, ghosts, angels, whatever. Once they get inside your head, it’s over. You’ll go batshit crazy and end up dead. You gotta keep your head.”

Easier said than done when the other angels could quite literally get inside his head. Still, he nodded. “How do I know?” he asked. Asking advice of a human, was this truly who he had become? But who else had the answers? “How do I know I’m doing the right thing?”

Dean stared out at the highway. “Trust your gut, I guess.” He looked at Castiel again, and a smile tugged at his mouth. “You’re the angel, dude. You should be the one giving me advice. I don’t know shit.”

Castiel smiled, easier now. “I believe you know more than you let on, Dean. More than I do in some areas. In regards to free will, for example. It is all so new to me. Thinking for myself. I feel as if I’m making everything up as I go.” Once, those words had sounded triumphant, bold. Now they sounded despondent. 

“Sucks, doesn’t it?” Dean asked. He scraped at the ground with his fingertips and tossed the loose gravel lightly. “But you aren’t the only one. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing half the time. I mean, look at this case. It’s a mess. And Sam’s mind powers. I keep telling him everything’s fine, we’ll figure everything out, but I don’t know for sure. I don’t know what the fuck is going on. Seems I’m always making it up as I go, bullshitting my way through everything.”

Castiel studied him. “This confusion, it’s to be expected?”

“Yeah. Unfortunately. Lot easier just to have someone tell you what to do.”

“Yes,” Castiel agreed. Then he thought of his superiors. Thought of Uriel telling him to release Sam from Bobby’s panic room, to let Sam drink demon blood. Zachariah telling him to keep Dean locked in the ‘green room,’ away from his brother. “But I don’t know if better.”

Dean hummed in his throat. “Maybe you’re right.”

A metal sign tapped in a slight breeze and Castiel crossed his arms over his stomach. A bus pulled to a stop across the street and the person sitting on the bench roused themself, waiting for the bus’ doors to ease open with a hiss before getting on.

Dean’s gaze was heavy on him, and, turning his head, Castiel looked at him. The neon signs on the bar’s exterior cast red and yellow lights on his face, flickering shadows across his jawline. Sitting this close to Dean, he could hear his heartbeat. Too quick just for sitting on a curb.

Without really meaning to, he let his gaze pierce to Dean’s soul. What struck him most was how enthralling it was, almost hypnotic. Not quite the same pull he felt towards Dean’s soul in the future, but that was only because his grace wasn’t bonded to Dean now. But, still, a pull.

Drawn to the intensity, he found himself wishing that he could reach out and touch Dean’s soul again, let his grace wrap around it, wondered if it would feel as exhilarating as the first time.

And that was the problem, because he wasn’t supposed to wonder such things. He wasn’t supposed to crave a bond with a human. His superiors had warned him of the dangers of growing too close; maybe they knew he was weak; maybe they knew the influence a human soul could have on an angel. Sitting next to Dean now, though, the slightest brush of Dean’s shoulder against his, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

A semi-trailer truck drove by on the overpass, a loud whoosh of tires. His gaze pulled away by the sudden noise, Dean glanced at the highway, then at the bar.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” he said. Standing, he extended his hand and Castiel took it, let Dean pull him to his feet.

Holding onto Dean’s hand, he met his eyes. Dean’s eyes fell to his mouth and without meaning to, Castiel took half a step forward. Then Dean’s gaze flickered from his face to the bar behind them. 

“Not here, come on.” Untangling his hand from Castiel’s, he headed to the Impala and Castiel followed.

His heart pounded as Dean started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. His window was cracked open and a cool wind blew through his hair. 

“Is everything alright?” he asked. “I didn’t mean—”

“No, everything’s fine, I just…” Dean tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, then looked at him, put on a grin. “Just figured we’d go somewhere more private.”

Castiel nodded. He’d heard before the expression ‘butterflies in your stomach.’ He’d never understood before now what that felt like.

The moon was high in the sky, bright, illuminating Dean’s face when he pulled off the road into the parking lot of a small park. He fiddled with the heat controls and the radio’s volume. Outside, the metal structures of a swing set and slide gleamed in the moonlight.

“Dean,” Castiel said, and Dean looked at him. Castiel slid closer on the bench seat and saw the way Dean’s eyes fell to his mouth, the way he breathed in sharply. “I’ve… I’ve never kissed a human before.” Or an angel, or anyone. He hadn’t realized he much he wanted to know what it was like until now, studying Dean’s face in the moonlight and orange glow of the lamppost outside.

Dean held his gaze for a long moment, and Castiel didn’t know what he was thinking, too many conflicting emotions emanating from him. Then Dean slowly grinned. “I’ve never kissed an angel before.”

“Do you want to?” Castiel asked, quietly, because suddenly he was worried Dean wouldn’t want to, wouldn’t want to kiss _him_ , specifically. He wasn’t sure whether the Dean he knew in the future would either, he didn’t know anything.

But Dean nodded and, slowly, leaned forward. His heart pounding in his ears, Castiel met him in the middle, his eyes falling shut at the first press of Dean’s lips on his. His heart lurched in his chest, and his grace tingled in his fingertips, stunning him completely frozen for a moment before he kissed Dean back, hoping he was doing it right.

Dean pulled away a little and, opening his eyes, Castiel whispered, “Was that alright?”

“Mhm,” Dean said, nodding, and kissed him again, lifting a hand to Castiel’s jaw to tilt his head a little to the side. 

Castiel’s hand rose to touch Dean’s chest, lightly, as Dean captured his bottom lip between his own. His face felt hot, his grace churning in his chest. Dean’s lips were soft against his, gentle, and Castiel pressed back against him, wanting more. Feeling inexperienced, out of his element in a way he’d never felt before, he clutched at Dean’s jacket. 

He let Dean set the pace, a mixture of exhilaration and nerves making him feel giddy as he tried to kiss Dean back the way Dean was kissing him. Every time he thought he’d learned the shift of Dean’s lips on his, Dean did something new, caught his lower lip between his teeth, nudged his jaw with his hand, and he felt the thrill of being lost again. Dean licked up his bottom lip, and he understood the cue. Parting his lips, he slid his hand to the back of Dean’s neck, shivered at the slide of Dean’s tongue against his.

When they parted again, Castiel was surprised by how out of breath he was, how fast his heart was still pounding.

“You’re a fast learner,” Dean said with a smile. His one hand had slipped to Castiel’s collar and he kept gripping it as he met Castiel’s eyes. 

“I’ve watched humans for millennia. I suppose I picked up a few things.”

Dean’s smile grew. “Kinky.”

“If you say so.”

Dean laughed and his eyes dropped to his hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “I don’t…” He was silent for a moment. “I haven’t done this with many guys,” he finally finished. 

“If it makes you feel better,” Castiel said. “I’m not a guy. I’m an angel. Though, yes, I am in a male vessel at the moment.”

Shaking his head, Dean let out a breath of laughter. “Have you ever been in a chick?”

“In a…? Yes. A long time ago.”

Dean’s eyes lit up. “That’s kinda hot. Getting to be in different bodies. No, that’s really hot.”

“I suppose it can be warm.” Castiel looked down at himself and opened the lapels of his coat. “Restricting, mostly.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Are you fucking with me, or are you really like this?”

“Like what?”

“Never mind.” Tugging at Castiel’s tie, he pulled him forward. “C’mere.”

He kissed Castiel again, sucking on his bottom lip, and through the haze his mind was sinking into, Castiel realized what he’d meant.

“Oh,” he said, pulling away with a smile. “You meant hot as in slang, not in temperature.”

Dean rolled his eyes with even more force than last time. “Yes, dumbass.”

“So, you do think I’m ‘hot’?” He used the air quotes gesture, and Dean burst out laughing. “Why is that funny?”

Dean wiped at his eyes. “It’s just absurd. An angel using air quotes.” Castiel let out a noise of protest and Dean held up his hands. “Sorry, sorry. But, um, yes. I do think that you’re hot. Even in this vessel.” After a moment, he added, “Especially in this vessel.”

Castiel reached out to trace Dean’s jawline with his finger. “You are one of the most beautiful humans I’ve ever seen.” 

He could feel Dean’s skin heating up, and Dean let out a laugh that sounded more nervous than anything. Swatting Castiel’s hand away, he said, “Come on.” 

He climbed over the seat into the back and Castiel followed, adding, as he sat down next to Dean on the bench seat, “Your soul is unlike any I’ve ever seen before.”

“Alright, now I _know_ you’re fucking with me.” Slipping off his jacket, Dean tossed it over the front seat. “How many souls you’ve seen? Billions?”

“Yes.” Castiel looked down at his shirt as Dean unbuttoned it. “But yours… It’s very…” He didn’t know how to describe it in human terms. Touching Dean’s chest, he let his grace reach inwards. Dean’s soul responded in turn, tugged his grace forward. 

Dean let out a small sound, almost a sigh, or a noise of surprise. His reaction and the warmth pooling in Castiel’s fingerprints made Castiel smile. 

“Bright,” he finished. “Stunning, really. And pure.”

He pulled his fingers away and Dean took a breath, staring at him. “Pure?” He grinned a little. “You sure about that?” His fingers tugged at Castiel’s trenchcoat, and Castiel slipped it off. 

“Yes. Your motives, your intentions, they all stem from a love for your family, from a desire to help others. That is a very pure motivation.”

“If you say so.” It seemed Dean was uncomfortable receiving compliments. Castiel opened his mouth to comment on it, but Dean leaned in and kissed him again, and he lost his train of thought.

He felt Dean’s hands fumbling at his shirt again and, realizing Dean was trying to undress him, lifted his hand to snap his fingers. “I can just—”

“No.” Pulling away, Dean grabbed his hand. “This is part of the fun.” 

His fingers slid up under Castiel’s shirt as he kissed him again, and Castiel had to agree. Every touch felt like sparks along his skin. He protested when Dean broke their kiss, but let him tug his shirt over his head. Dean did the same with his own, and Castiel leaned back when Dean pushed him back, settling on the cool leather of the backseat. 

Dean’s hands were persistent, fumbling with Castiel’s fly and sliding up his waist. His lips were warm along his skin, wet as he sucked at his neck and collarbone. Castiel tried to reciprocate, raised his hands to touch Dean’s chest, his neck, his face. He wanted more of Dean’s skin on his, wanted to touch every part of Dean he could reach. He hadn’t been this close to a human since rebuilding Dean after Hell, and he’d never been with someone like this.

His eyes fell to Dean’s shoulder. No handprint—the mark left behind from his true form touching human skin. He hadn't meant to hurt Dean, had released his hold on Dean as soon as he finished knitting together his body, but he'd already left a searing imprint. Maybe he’d held on too long. Maybe he had never wanted to let go. A thrill ran through him at being able to touch him now, with no consequences, finally.

His eyes fell to a yellowing bruise on Dean’s collarbone. “What’s this from?” he asked, fingers trailing over the battered skin. 

Dean hissed a little, pulling away from Castiel’s touch. “Long story,” he said. Before Castiel could ask another question, he ducked his head to suck under Castiel’s jawbone, and Castiel’s eyes fell shut.

“Could I… could I heal you?” he managed to ask.

Dean pulled back to meet his eyes. “What?”

Raising his hand, Castiel held up his two fingers. “I can heal you, take away the pain.”

“Okay,” Dean said hesitantly, and gently, Castiel touched his forehead, felt his grace flow into Dean’s skin. 

Dean’s eyes widened, then fell shut as he let out a sigh. The bruise on his shoulder faded, the invisible bruise on his bone healing under the touch of Castiel’s grace. 

“Does that feel good?” Castiel asked, pulling his fingers away, gauging Dean’s relaxed expression. 

Dean’s eyes fluttered open and he swallowed hard. “Fuck, yes. Was that your grace?”

Castiel nodded, an idea forming in his mind. “I want to try something.” Pulling Dean down, he kissed him, this time letting traces of his grace flow from his lips to Dean’s, and Dean moaned, cupped his face to slot their mouths together. 

Wrapping his arms around Dean’s neck, Castiel touched his tongue against Dean’s lower lip experimentally. When Dean made another moaning sound, he licked into his mouth, a small sound rising in his own throat. His grace tingled in his fingertips, and behind his closed eyes, he saw the light from the lamppost outside flicker. 

Dean broke their kiss suddenly. “You're not gonna blow up my car, are you?”

Castiel frowned at him. “I’ll restrain myself.”

Dean let out a breathy laugh. “Good.”

The longer they kissed, the less grace Castiel used, the simple feeling of Dean’s mouth on his more than enough to make him dizzy. In all his years in Heaven and on Earth, he’d never felt anything like it. 

They lost more of their clothes until their bodies were completely bare against each other. Castiel ducked his head to kiss Dean’s neck, just like Dean had done to him, trying to recall everything he’d seen in all his time observing humans. 

He’d never imagined he’d find himself in a situation like this, doing these things with a human. But that term wasn’t right anymore. Dean wasn’t just any human, wasn’t just a type of species Castiel observed distantly. He was… he was Dean. He was here, he was shifting over Castiel, his legs sliding against his, his mouth insistent on Castiel’s neck, his chest, his lips.

Dean was panting, his hands roaming Castiel’s body. His hand found Castiel’s cock and Castiel’s hips jerked up involuntarily, a groan pulled from his throat. Lifting his head, he trailed his fingers over Dean’s length, watching Dean’s face for permission. When Dean shifted into his touch, he wrapped his hand around Dean's cock, stroking him lightly. 

“Is this good?” he asked, meeting Dean’s eyes, and Dean nodded breathlessly.

“Yeah, like this.” He lined up their cocks and encircled Castiel’s hand with his, pumping his fist deliberately. 

“Oh,” Castiel breathed, following Dean’s movements. Dean braced himself on the bench seat, and Castiel watched, almost entranced, at their fists moving together around both their cocks. He gripped Dean’s arm with his free hand, heat coiling in his stomach.

Already, he could feel his orgasm building inside him, just as it had in the library, but more intense this time, even more overwhelming. He tried to push it back, didn’t want this to end, but the longer he felt Dean’s hands on him, the more pressing the need became. 

“Shit, shit,” Dean breathed, and Castiel dropped his head back on the seat. Raising his eyes, he studied Dean’s face, the part of his lips, the tiny line formed between his eyebrows in concentration, the way he grunted and jerked when Castiel thumbed over the head of his cock.

His pupils blown wide, Dean met his eyes. “Stop staring,” he said, and Castiel caught the teasing tone to his voice. “It’s creepy.” Twining his fingers in Castiel’s hair, he kissed him, and Castiel arched into his touch, losing his pace, trying to focus on stroking Dean, kissing him, stifling the surge of his grace in his chest.

“Do it again,” Dean mumbled against his mouth. 

His head was spinning. “Do what?”

“Use your grace.”

It was so effortless, to let his grace seep into Dean’s skin, into his mouth, to twine around him. His stomach tightened as Dean groaned into their kiss, almost clinging to him. He stroked Dean harder, dug his fingers into Dean’s arm, tried to remember that he’d told Dean he’d hold back; he didn’t want to, he wanted to be entirely with him.

With a stuttered gasp, Dean came in their fists. Castiel watched the way his eyes clenched shut, felt his release warm on his stomach, his cock pulse in his hand. 

“Dean,” he managed, a plea, repeated, the word drawn out into a moan, the Impala ceiling tilting, his eyes falling shut again. His hand gripped Dean’s arm, his shoulder, looking for any sort of purchase, and then everything building in him released in a wave of bliss. 

Like dying, every sense overwhelmed, but infinitely more pleasurable, like being created, brought back to life.

Through the blood pounding in his ears, he heard a shatter and the orange glow in the car disappeared. With a moan, dropping his head back onto the seat, he trembled with the aftershocks of his orgasm. 

They were both silent for a moment besides panted breaths and the low melody of the radio. Dean dropped his forehead to Castiel’s collarbone. Castiel stared out the window above his head. He could barely see the stars through the fogged glass, way above in the sky. They’d never seemed so distant, so unimportant. Nothing existed beyond the points of contact between his and Dean’s skin. 

Then Dean started laughing, shoulders shaking against Castiel. “Did you blow out that streetlight?” he asked.

Wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist, Castiel nodded, worn out in a way he’d never been before. He could feel Dean’s heart pounding against his chest. 

“That good huh?” Dean asked, a smile in his voice.

“Yes,” Castiel said. His hands found Dean’s face, and he pulled him up to kiss him until they were breathless. “A hundred times yes.”

In the moonlight, he caught Dean’s smile. 

When he’d caught his breath, his heart returning to its steady rhythm, they untangled their limbs and sat up. Dean looked down at himself, at the mess they’d made. “Fuck,” he said. 

He looked around, presumably for something to clean himself up with, and Castiel snapped his fingers, cleaning them both off instantly. “That’s so fucking cool,” Dean said, staring at him. 

Castiel smiled. All his angelic abilities, his grace, reduced to a single word: “cool.” He thought it quite fitting.

Dean leaned forward to grab his jeans from off the floor, and Castiel asked, “Is it always like this?”

“Like what?”

“This was… incredible. In all my years, I have never experienced anything like that. And I have been alive for a very long time. It was even better than at the library.”

“That’s because we weren’t in a public bathroom this time,” Dean said. Pulling up his jeans, he started buttoning them and asked, “In the future, have we ever, um—”

“Have we ever been sexually intimate?”

“I wasn’t going to use those words, but yeah.” Castiel shook his head and Dean raised an eyebrow. He pulled his shirt over his head. “Really? Not even made out or anything?” Castiel shook his head again. “Surprising.”

It wasn’t so surprising. Castiel wasn’t sure he’d ever realized just how close he wanted to be with Dean. Not until now, not until realizing Dean could want the same. With the Dean he knew, in the future, there were always so many conflicting emotions coming from him. If Castiel ever thought he sensed attraction from Dean, it was always swamped by Dean’s anger or fear soon enough. He was incredibly tricky to understand, but maybe that’s why he was endlessly intriguing.

Dean adjusted a necklace hanging against his chest, some sort of amulet. Grabbing his arm, Castiel leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Does this ever get old?” he asked, pulling back slightly. “Being with someone?”

Dean looked surprised at the question. “Uh, depends on who you’re with, I guess.”

“I don’t think I’d ever get tired of this.”

Dean laughed and looked away, and once again Castiel couldn’t read his emotions. What had he said? A nervousness filled him that he’d read too much into this. The other angels always did mock Dean for jumping from human to human. Maybe Dean had already gotten tired of him. Memories of his superiors' voices rang in his head once again, warnings of growing too close. 

They made it back into their clothes and into the front seats, and Dean pulled out of the parking lot. The Impala's wheels crunched over the gravel lot, and Castiel pressed a hand to his chest to feel his heartbeat, pulsing with his grace. He didn’t need his heart to pump, could stop it if he wanted, but he liked the way it felt. 

Dropping his hand, he looked at Dean. It was one thing to touch Dean’s soul in his true form, exhilarating and bonding, but to touch him like this, skin to skin, was entirely new, intoxicating in its own way. He’d meant what he said; he could never tire of it, didn’t know how he’d gone so long without it in the future. Maybe his superiors were wise; they’d known if he ever experienced this, he’d never stay away.

Dean glanced at him and Castiel realized he was staring again. But Dean only grinned and looked away, back out the windshield. He’d pulled on his leather jacket, the collar lifted, and Castiel asked, “Why do you always wear that jacket?” 

Dean glanced down at it, then shrugged. “It’s just comfortable, I guess. It was my dad’s.” He pat the dashboard. “Just like these wheels.” His eyes met Castiel’s briefly and he laughed a little. “If Dad knew, the kinda stuff that went on in here…” He trailed off, then said, “Listen, Cas, um, we’re keeping this between you and me, right?”

“Of course.” He studied Dean, the lights from passing cars and street lamps passing over his face in intervals. “I don’t understand, though. Why are you so worried about Sam knowing?”

“It’s just weird, I guess.”

“What’s weird?”

“Sam doesn’t really know that I, uh…” He cleared his throat. “Uh, that I hook up with guys sometimes.” The last part he mumbled quietly. 

“He doesn’t?”

“Well, sometimes I think he might. And sometimes we joke around. But I’ve never told him.”

“I see.” Dean wasn’t meeting his eyes. “And you don’t want to tell him.”

“Not really.”

At least he could read Dean’s emotions now, could sense his nervousness. “It’s alright,” he said, wanting to soothe him. “I won’t say a word. I think I’d rather keep this private anyway.”

“Good. Yeah.” Dean glanced at him. “Um, thanks.” Castiel nodded.

They drove through a downtown, the streets empty, the stores dark. Castiel spotted a sign reading _Relics of Time Antique Shop_ and frowned, turned in his seat to look at the store. He caught a glimpse of a window display of an armchair and lamp. Natalia had said she owned an antique shop. 

“What’s up?” Dean asked, glancing back.

“I think that’s Natalia’s store back there,” Castiel said, turning back around. In everything that had happened tonight, he’d forgotten entirely about the case. What were they going to do? If Bobby didn’t have any ideas of what was causing the deaths in the house, then what? 

A small frown settled on Dean’s face and Castiel knew he was thinking about the case too. Maybe they’d overlooked something; they had to have overlooked something.

Then he had a thought: Natalia had said she’d helped furnish Eva’s home with items from her antique shop. 

“Ghosts can use physical items to travel, correct?” he asked.

Dean nodded. “Right.”

“What about antiques?” 

“Yeah, of course,” Dean answered, then his eyes widened and he looked at Castiel. “Son of a bitch.” 

Castiel nodded. “The chandelier.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _next week: the boys go ghost hunting_
> 
> thank you to everyone who's reading along and leaving kudos and such lovely comments, you all make my week brighter <3


	5. Salt and Burn

“Can’t believe we didn’t think of it,” Sam said. Dean nodded as he drove, scanning the shopfronts they were passing. Castiel tapped his shoulder, pointing to the side street where he’d spotted the antique shop. “Natalia did say Eva and Robert just bought the chandelier. The timeline matches up.”

“Makes sense,” Dean said, pulling in behind the shop and parking. After their revelation, Dean and Castiel had rushed back to the motel and woken Sam, telling him their theory as they drove back to the shop. 

The Impala’s headlights shone on a back door and dumpster. Castiel wasn’t even sure he was correct in his conjecture, but his stomach fluttered all the same when Dean glanced at him in the rearview mirror and said, “Think Cas is getting a hang of this hunting thing.”

Castiel smiled and Dean peered through the windshield. “I don’t see any cameras, we should be good.”

They got out of the car and Castiel and Dean hung back as Sam picked the lock. The doorknob clicked and he opened it. “Alright, come on, quick,” he said, waving them inside.

The interior of the store was dark. Low light streamed through the windows, faintly illuminating the crooked rows of dressers and desks, lampstands and knicknacks. Sam switched on a flashlight and swept it around the store. 

“Ew, creepy,” Dean said, poking a china doll with golden curls. The doll squeaked and rocked backwards, startling them all. Quickly, Dean snatched it up before it fell to the floor.

“If you break something…” Sam started. 

Dean set the doll back upright on the dresser. “Bite me.” 

Shining his flashlight on a closed door, Sam headed that way. Opening it revealed an office with a desk and computer. “Hopefully they kept records,” he said, sitting down and turning the computer on. Dean shone his own flashlight over the shelves in the room, illuminating a photo of Natalia and Eva and a framed newspaper article about the store.

“Here we go,” Sam announced. Castiel and Dean moved to his side to see the screen. “This is the original owner of the chandelier.” Sam pointed to a spreadsheet listing various items, their origins, and buyers. “Charlotte Williamson. Died in 1932 of electrocution when the wiring for the chandelier fritzed. The chandelier sat in storage for years until…” He traced the dates on the spreadsheet. “Until a few weeks ago when the estate had an auction and it was brought here.” He looked up at Dean. “That’s how the ghost traveled and got to the Rodriguez family. Through the chandelier. It had nothing to do with Eva and Natalia’s dad at all.”

Dean nodded and straightened. “Looks like you were right, Cas. Time to torch a chandelier.”

**·•·•·•·**

The sun was just beginning to rise when they arrived at Eva Rodriguez’s house. Dean parked across the street alongside the neighborhood park and studied the house. “Doesn’t look like anybody’s inside.”

“How are we gonna get the chandelier down and out of there?” Sam asked. 

“Still think burning the place down would be easier,” Dean said. Sam gave him a look and Dean rolled his eyes. “I don’t know, we’ll figure it out.”

Castiel waited in the car with Dean while Sam went inside using the key Natalia had given them. A few seconds later, the garage door opened, and Dean parked inside. Castiel got out of the backseat and watched Sam and Dean pile items from the trunk into a duffel bag. They had a whole arsenal of weapons and charms, flasks of holy water and piles of ammunition. 

Dean held out a shotgun and Castiel shook his head. “I don’t know how to use a gun.”

“How the hell you gonna defend yourself then? Any of your special powers work against a ghost?”

“Well, no, but I have this.” He let his blade drop down from his sleeve into his hand and held it up. 

“Woah, cool,” Sam said, stepping forward to see it better. 

“Were you keeping that in there this whole time?” Dean asked. “Is that iron?”

Castiel considered the blade. “No, it’s formed from my grace.”

“Then it ain’t gonna do shit. Ghosts are only affected by salt and iron.” He held up a canister before loading it into his gun, and Castiel realized it was filled with salt. “Here, put that away and take this.” Retrieving a heavy blade, he handed it to Castiel. It was unwieldy, but Castiel tucked away his angel blade for the iron one.

Inside the house, the rising sun cast long shadows through the windows. Dean went to turn on the lights, but Sam stopped him. “The ghost has been killing through electrocution. She might get power from it.”

Dean nodded and dropped his hand from the light switch. They went into the foyer and Castiel stared up at the chandelier. Teardrop-shaped glass hung from the golden arms which held light bulbs shaped like candle flames. The light coming from the semicircle window over the door refracted through the glass, casting angled shapes along the walls. 

Setting the duffel bag of weapons on the floor, Dean dug out his EMF reader and turned it on. It whined a little, then crackled. “She’s around here somewhere,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “Let’s hurry it up.”

He and Sam hauled a ladder in from the garage and situated it under the chandelier, next to the staircase. To decide who climbed up the ladder, they did something with their hands that Castiel didn’t follow—but apparently Sam’s closed fist was more advantageous than Dean’s two fingers because Sam grinned when Dean groaned in protest.

“I swear to god if I break my neck,” he muttered, climbing up the ladder as Sam steadied the bottom. He reached the top and touched the chandelier. It swayed slightly and the reflections on the wall shifted.

Castiel looked around, but no ghost appeared. “Now what?” Dean asked. “Let it drop?”

“No,” Sam protested. “We’re trying to not make a mess.”

“Well I can’t exactly burn it while it’s attached to the ceiling.”

“If I may,” Castiel offered, stepping forward. “I can try to bring it down.”

“Yeah, wait, you’re the strong one,” Dean said. He started to climb down, then a crackling noise filled the air, and the hair stood up on Castiel's arms.

“Dean, look out!” Sam pointed as a shimmering woman appeared at the top of the staircase. Dean turned and Sam stooped to pick up his gun, but the ghost was too quick.

With a snarl, she waved her hand. An invisible force knocked Dean off the ladder and to the side, through the staircase banister and onto the stairs. 

“Dean!” Castiel yelled, his heart leaping into his throat. Dean’s head knocked against the wall and he tumbled down the stairs before grabbing the banister and stopping his fall. 

Gunshots rang out as Sam fired. The ghost shrieked as the salt pierced her form, then she vanished before their eyes.

“Is she gone?” Castiel asked, scanning the room wildly.

Sam wasn’t listening, rushing to where Dean was trying to sit up. “Bring the chandelier down!” he called. Castiel looked up at the chandelier and flew to the top of the ladder. 

As he reached out, a hissing caught his attention and he whipped around to see the ghost reappearing next to Sam, hands held out, sparks crackling from her fingers. 

“Sam!” he yelled, and Sam turned, raising his gun. Screeching, the ghost lurched forward. Her hands pierced Sam's chest and he convulsed with a cry of pain, blue sparks winding around his chest as his legs gave out and he crumpled to the ground. 

Instinctively, Castiel started for him, then remembered the ghost was tied to the chandelier. Leaning out over the top of the ladder, he unhooked the light fixture from the ceiling. It fell to the floor with a crash, glass shattering in all directions. 

Just as he’d hoped, the ghost’s attention snapped to him. Letting go of Sam, she whooshed forward to the base of the ladder. Then she screamed indignantly and vanished as holes appeared in her abdomen.

Behind her, Dean lowered Sam’s smoking gun. Pushing himself up with one hand against the wall, he shook Sam’s shoulder. “Sam? Sammy, come on, are you with me?”

“Dean, what now?” Castiel called. 

Dean looked up at him, his eyes wild. They fell to the fragmented chandelier. “The gasoline.”

Flying to the bottom of the ladder, Castiel reached the duffel bag before Dean stumbled to his feet. He drenched the chandelier with gasoline and salt, pouring both at the same time, and Dean withdrew his lighter, one arm wrapped around his stomach, his weight off his left leg, his face twisted in pain.

Just as he flicked on his lighter, there was another crackling noise and the ghost appeared behind him, hands outstretched.

Castiel’s heart lurched. “Dean, move!” he yelled. Instantly, Dean ducked. Swinging his iron blade, Castiel cut through the ghost, her wavering form providing little resistance. With an angry screech, she disappeared. Spinning around, Castiel kept the blade up, waiting for the ghost to appear again.

“Stand back,” Dean warned, flicking his lighter on. He dropped it onto the chandelier and flames shot up, bright blaze and heat. Grabbing Castiel’s sleeve, Dean pulled him out of the way of the flames licking near their feet. 

The ghost appeared again, on the other side of the blaze, and Dean lifted his shotgun. Then the chandelier began to melt and the ghost froze in place. Her face twisted in horror as the flames rose higher, and she began to wail, a high, desperate keening sound.

“That’s what you get, you evil bitch!” Dean yelled above her screams, taking frantic glances at Sam.

With a wave of his hand, Castiel swept the outward remains of the glass into the fire, which was increasing in intensity. “Go, get Sam!" he told Dean. "I’ll keep her back.” 

Stumbling a little, Dean ran to Sam’s side and dragged him out of the way of the flames, into the adjacent living room. Castiel gripped the iron blade tighter as the ghost took a faltering step towards him, raising her arms beseechingly. Her screams rose to a higher pitch, flames now licking up her body, engulfing her. With a final screech that made Castiel tense, she burst into a flurry of sparks.

The chandelier was a melted mess on the floor beneath the flames and with a snap of his fingers, Castiel extinguished the fire before it extended up the wrecked staircase. Disregarding the trails of smoke and soot, he ran into the living room. “Dean?”

Dean had collapsed beside Sam, one hand clutching Sam’s shirt. “Cas, he’s not breathing."

Castiel dropped down beside them and held his hand over Sam’s heart. No pulse. Shutting his eyes, he willed his grace into Sam’s body, into his heart, willing it to re-start. He could hear Dean breathing hard, could sense anxiety and fear flowing from him unhindered.

The same emotions coursed through him as Sam remained still—then, all at once, Sam’s eyes shot open and he gasped for air. 

“Son of a—” Dean grabbed Sam into a hug, gripping him tightly for a moment before shoving him away. “Don’t fucking do that again!”

Sam nodded, coughing, then he winced and grabbed his arm. “Hold on,” Castiel said, touching Sam’s shoulder to stop him from sitting up. Willing his grace again, he healed him further, completely. 

Sam let out a soft, surprised, “Oh,” and looked down at his body, flexing his fingers. Looking back up at them, he asked, “Did we do it? Is she gone?”

“She’s gone,” Dean said. He’d sat back, leaning against an armchair, and his face was lined as he tried to move his leg. It was twisted at a strange angle and blood stained his pant leg. He tried to laugh. “No thanks to you.”

“Dean, allow me,” Castiel said, and Dean nodded. Reaching out, he touched two fingers to Dean’s forehead, allowed his grace to flow through his fingertips.

Dean blinked, tension visibly receding from around his eyes. With a long sigh, he dropped his head back against the chair. His eyes flicked to Sam who hovered close by over Castiel’s shoulder, and his relaxed expression faded into a grin. Shutting his eyes, he moaned in a mock falsetto, saying in a high pitched voice, “Harder, daddy.”

“Oh my god,” Sam groaned and picked himself off up the floor.

Alarmed, Castiel pulled his fingers away and sat back on his heels, afraid Dean was hurt worse than he’d thought. “I’m not your father.”

Dean started laughing and Sam kicked him lightly. “You’re so immature.” 

Castiel’s shoulders relaxed, realizing it was just a joke. Dean laughed harder, doubled over now, and Castiel couldn't help but smile. The worry he’d felt coursing through him upon seeing Dean tossed across the room dissipated into something warmer, making him feel light and relieved. 

“You two are so fucking lame,” Dean said through his laughter. He struggled to his feet and Castiel grabbed his elbow to help him up. 

“Shit,” Sam said, looking into the foyer. Castiel joined him in the doorway and winced at the sight. The banister was in pieces, splintered pieces of wood tossed throughout. Burn marks and ash streaked across the floor and walls, one of which had a large dent from when the ghost tossed Dean. The remains of the chandelier lay in a twisted pile on the floor. 

“Yeah, uh, let’s get out of here before the neighbors call the cops,” Dean said. “Cas?”

Castiel nodded and, willing his grace, set the foyer back to rights. “I’m not restoring the chandelier," he said, leaving it in its twisted, shattered state. 

“No, good call.” Dean walked over and looked down at it, kicking aside a few scorched pieces. “With any luck, Natalia will blame it on faulty wiring and move on.” When Castiel moved to his side, he clapped him on the shoulder. “Good work, buddy. First ghost hunt under your belt.”

**·•·•·•·**

After they returned to the motel where Sam and Dean packed up their stuff, they were back on the road, this time to the town where wendigos had murdered two people. After a long warning about not riding the brakes, Dean let Sam drive. Tucking his jacket under his head, he fell asleep and Sam pulled out onto the road.

Glancing around at the backseat, Castiel clasped his hands in his lap. A green cooler sat on the benchseat next to him, where Dean had sat last night and Castiel had searched his soul. His heartbeat sped up, his skin flushing, remembering the way Dean had pushed him back against the seat. 

Trying to distract himself, he leaned forward and asked Sam, “You and Dean never take days off, do you?”

Sam scoffed. “Never.” He merged onto a highway and added, “I guess we can’t, really. There’s always another monster out there. Wish we could focus on the demon that killed Mom, though, go find Dad.”

He glanced at Castiel in the rearview mirror. “Do you… do you think God will let you stay here? Or let other angels come to Earth, at least? I mean, you guys could really help us.”

“I’m sorry, Sam,” Castiel said. “But I don’t think that will happen. God said he would pull me back eventually, and the angels are very particular about keeping their distance from humans, at least at this point in time.” Sighing, Sam nodded, and Castiel nearly added that he would like to stay. This Dean and Sam were so much easier to talk to. But then the face of the Dean he'd known first, the Dean he’d pulled from Hell, rose in his mind. The Dean who was starting to trust him, who bore the mark of Castiel’s hand on his skin. 

“I don’t doubt the angels could help you,” he said instead. “I believe you could teach them a few things as well. I, for one, have found my time on Earth to be very…” He tried to not let his gaze slip to Dean, “educational.”

“Yeah, well, you also really helped us out,” Sam said. “I don’t know what we would’ve done without you back there, with the ghost.”

“Oh, I think you would’ve been fine.” 

“Really?” Sam asked. “My heart stopped. If you weren’t there...” He trailed off. 

“I’m glad I was,” Castiel said to stop him from finishing that sentence. 

As they drove, Sam talked about the other salt and burns they’d been on before this one, then about his studies, about the professor who'd convinced him to consider law. “I had no idea what I wanted to do when I first went to college,” he told Castiel. “I took all these different classes—english, computer science, even anthropology.” He still kept in touch with his friends, had told them he was only taking a gap year to go on a roadtrip with Dean.

“You want to go back to college?” Castiel asked.

“Yeah. Once we find Dad and kill this thing he’s hunting, then I’m gone.” He glanced at Dean and Castiel followed his gaze. He was fairly certain Dean wouldn’t want Sam to leave. “I never wanted to be a hunter, you know? I like helping people, but Dad and Dean can handle the monsters. I’ll find another way to help.”

Castiel nodded. Maybe after the apocalypse, Sam could go back to college, back to a normal life. He wasn’t sure how normal it would be, though, after developing psychic powers, after becoming addicted to demon blood.

Sam seemed to be thinking along the same lines because he added, “If I _can_ go back to normal life, I guess. These visions... I don’t know how I’m supposed to make them stop, if I can make them stop. What am I supposed to tell my friends? That I’m psychic now or something? And what if I have a vision and can’t do anything about it, can’t prevent someone from dying?” He met Castiel’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Do they stop? Ever?”

“Sam, you know I can’t—”

“Right, yeah, of course." He stared back out at the road. "Don’t want to mess up any timelines. I get it.” He fell silent, his jaw working, then met Castiel’s eyes again. “But can you tell me if there’s something, I don’t know… if there’s something really wrong with me?”

When his superiors had first briefed him on Sam Winchester, he had thought there was something wrong and twisted about Sam. He was to become Lucifer’s vessel after all. _The boy with the demon blood_ , Sam had been called. It was a weighty title. Factually, it was true. But he knew Sam hadn’t asked for it.

“I can see your soul, Sam,” he said, looking at it as he spoke. “There is nothing wrong about it. It’s good. I can promise you aren’t a monster.” It was true, no matter how Sam would be manipulated in the future by demons.

“You mean that? You’re not just telling me that so I don’t freak out?” 

“I wouldn’t lie to you, Sam. You’re a good person.” Too late he remembered Sam would remember none of this conversation when he returned to his time.

Sam let out a long exhale in relief. “Thank you. That’s really good to hear.”

“You’re welcome,” Castiel said, trying to smile though he felt sick knowing Sam would return to his doubts soon enough, would soon have to deal with temptations and worries much worse than he could imagine now.

Maybe he could help, though, in the future. If he returned to the angels, to the plan, Sam would be forced to become a vessel for evil incarnate. If he rebelled, maybe Sam would have a chance of escaping his destiny. He knew which choice Dean would beg him to make, had begged him to make. 

All the same, even without the other angels’ voices in his head, he could hear their warnings: _You will never see Heaven again. Fallen angel. Tarnished and ruined._

Sighing, he looked out the window, watched trees pass in a blur. Dean was right. It was so much easier to not have to think for oneself, to not have to write one’s own story.

The sun shining through the window warmed him as they crossed into Illinois, a green sign declaring the state, “The Land of Lincoln.” From where he rested against the window, Dean shifted, then blinked awake. Rubbing his neck, he straightened, then frowned. 

“What the fuck is this shit we’re listening to?” he asked, turning off the radio, which had been playing low below the hum of the tires on the road. 

“No, leave it on,” Sam protested, switching the radio back on.

“You have the worst fucking taste.” Opening the glove box, he rummaged through a box of cassettes. Paying attention to the music now, Castiel tried to discern what Dean found so offensive about it. It was a fairly innocuous tune, upbeat and cheerful.

“I thought the rule was driver picks the music,” Sam said. “You don’t have a say.”

“Alright, I’m driving.” Dean pushed a cassette into a slot in the radio. “Pull over.”

“What? No.”

“Yeah, pull over. You’re disrespecting my car.”

“Jerk,” Sam muttered, pulling over onto the shoulder.

“Bitch,” Dean said, less harshly than reflexively. Sam got out of the car and Dean slid over to the driver’s seat. He glanced back at Castiel. “Still awake, Cas? Not tired?”

“I don’t sleep—”

“Right, right.” His eyes slid over the backseat, then returned to Castiel. He grinned and, trying to hide his smile, Castiel ducked his head. He supposed there were some merits after all to making his own decisions, trusting himself rather than the rules and plan set out before him.

**·•·•·•·**

“For fuck's sake,” Sam muttered, and Castiel looked up from the newspaper article he was reading that recounted a victim’s death. Dean was leaning on the bar across the room, ordering drinks. “He can’t focus for more than two seconds,” Sam said, returning his gaze to the newspapers and police reports scattered around the table. He and Dean had lost no time in beginning to research the case, discussing it as they ate at a bar in the town where the killings had occurred. “See anything in that article?”

“It names the witness who found the bodies.” Sliding the newspaper to Sam, his eyes returned to Dean, who was grinning at the young female bartender. His stomach twisted watching her laugh at something he said. A feeling not dissimilar to what he felt watching Dean interact with Anna in the future. _Jealousy,_ he realized suddenly.

Deliberately trying not to listen in to their conversation—the bartender was now nonchalantly dropping when she’d be off work—he studied another article. To his relief, Dean came over a few seconds later with three small glasses. To Castiel’s questioning look, he said, “Figure you might want to give drinking another try.”

“Really?” Sam asked as Dean pushed one of the glasses over to him. “Shots?”

“We’re celebrating, man! You came back to life! What’d you see on the other side? Let me guess, your heaven included Rio, in that outfit—” He looked at Castiel. “He had the hugest crush on this wrestler when he was a kid, begged Dad to buy him a poster of her even though he didn’t have a room to hang it up in.”

Sam threw some of the peanuts from a small bowl on the table at Dean. “Shut up.”

“To clarify,” Castiel spoke up. “Sam wasn’t dead when I healed him. Though he was in critical condition.”

“Well, it was a good thing you were there then,” Dean said. He raised his glass. “To another creep sent back to the grave.”

Castiel watched Dean and Sam take the shots, then drained his own glass and frowned. Dean grinned, watching him, and Castiel said, “It tastes like… static.”

“Hmm. Could be worse.” Sitting down in the chair next to Cas, he nudged him with his elbow. “Think angels can get drunk?”

“Perhaps. With enough alcohol.”

“We should see how much it takes, test out your tolerance.”

“You’re a horrible influence,” Sam said, rifling through the pages of a newspaper. 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Tell him, Cas. Drinking ain’t a sin, right?”

“No, it isn’t,” Castiel answered. 

“See, Sam? Get that stick out of your ass. Cas wants to experience all that life has to offer.” He looked at Castiel, pointing discreetly at the bar. “You should go talk to Melanie, she’s friendly. I saw her looking over at you.”

“Why would I do that?” He looked at the bartender—Melanie, apparently—who was placing bills in a cash register. “I’m not interested in her.” He looked back at Dean and Dean’s grin faltered. 

“Just trying to give you some pointers,” he said. Pulling his wallet out of his pocket, he handed Sam a bill. “Go grab us a round.”

Rolling his eyes, Sam took the money and headed to the bar. When he was out of earshot, Castiel leaned closer to Dean, a curling fear in his stomach. “Dean, are you not interested in me anymore?” 

Dean looked startled. “What? No, I, that’s not…”

Relief filled Castiel, but, “Then why did you tell me to talk to that woman?”

“I was just joking, Cas.”

“I see,” Castiel said, though he really didn’t. “If you are still interested, then when can we be intimate again?”

Dean glanced around them. “Yeah, uh...” He cleared his throat. “Let’s talk about it later.” 

“Oh, right.” Castiel sat back in his chair. “I’m sorry. You don’t like talking about it.”

Dean’s eyes flicked up to his. “It’s not that, it’s just… “ He shrugged, rocking his empty glass back and forth on the table. 

“You don’t want Sam to know,” Castiel supplied.

Dean tapped the glass on the table. “I mean, he’ll probably understand. I don’t think he’ll really care.” He fell silent. His jacket was draped over the back of his chair, and Castiel remembered the way he’d joked about his father learning of what he and Castiel had done.

“But your father,” he said, suddenly understanding.

Dean noticeably stiffened. Letting go of the glass, he straightened. “I just don’t want anyone to know, alright?”

Castiel nodded slowly, studying him, trying to make sense of the complicated mixture of emotions coming from him. Sam appeared at the table with three beers and Dean pulled his eyes away, put on a grin. “You get her number, Sammy?” he asked, taking one of the bottles from him. 

Sam rolled his eyes as he sat next to Castiel. “Not everyone tries to pick up every person they meet, Dean.” He slid a beer to Castiel. 

They kept drinking, and though Dean kept up a steady stream of joking and talking, he wasn’t meeting Castiel’s eyes fully, which worried Castiel. He hadn’t realized being in a male vessel would be so confusing for Dean, would cause so much anxiety. But humans were very particular about gender. He studied his hands picking at the label on his beer. Maybe he should’ve chosen a different vessel. Anna seemed to have had no problem growing close to Dean in the future. He could’ve chosen someone who looked like her. But it seemed he was stuck in this one now.

Dean grabbed another round of shots, Castiel tried another beer. The taste wasn’t improving any and Sam packed away the newspaper articles and reports. Dean recounted hunts he and Sam had been on since he’d picked Sam up from college and rescued him from, “a boring apple pie life.” Sam smiled weakly at that. 

By the time they left the bar, Sam was drunk and Dean wasn’t any better off. They bickered as they walked to the car about who was better able to drive. Following them, Castiel looked up at the night sky. The chilly air was cool on his face, the stars bright. 

“Tryin’ to find where you live?” Dean asked, and Castiel lowered his gaze to see Dean leaning on Baby, crossing his arms. “Which star’s the one you sit on?”

“Heaven exists on another plane,” Castiel explained. “Not that I would be able to sit on a star anyway. But I have flown among them.” He leaned back on the Impala next to Dean. 

“That’s fuckin' crazy.” Dean started laughing. “I can’t believe I’m talking to a damn angel. Can you believe it, Sammy?” He craned his neck to look at Sam and Sam shook his head. 

Castiel pointed to a star directly above. “I remember when that one was formed.” Dean leaned closer to follow his finger and his jacket brushed against Castiel’s arm. “The night sky used to be so much emptier eons ago.”

Dean studied the starry sky, then Castiel felt his gaze turn to him. Dropping his arm, he met Dean’s eyes. The look in Dean's eyes was one almost of awe, as if Castiel was something holy. It scared Castiel a little. Here, in the past, he felt powerful, capable. He could help with a case, help return a ghost to the grave. But in the future, next to his superiors, he was only an angel trying and failing to follow orders. At one time, he had thought he wanted Dean to view him with holy fear, respect. Now he was beginning to worry he couldn’t live up to what either this Dean or future Dean thought of him.

Sam cleared his throat, and Castiel and Dean turned to look at him. “Can we go?” Sam asked. “I’m freezing.” 

"Alright, alright." Dean pulled his keys from his pocket, dropped them, and stooped to pick them up. 

“You should let Cas drive,” Sam said as Dean managed to unlock the Impala doors.

Dean glanced at Castiel. “Yeah, not a chance. No offense, but I’m not risking Baby ending up in a ditch.” 

“We’re gonna end up in a ditch with you driving,” Sam muttered. 

Sliding into the backseat, Castiel watched Dean fumble with putting his key in the ignition. Sam swore under his breath and Dean glared at him. “I got it, alright?”

Castiel sighed. Leaning forward, put his hands on Sam and Dean’s shoulders and extended his wings. The whole trip flashed before his eyes, his wings rippling. To Dean and Sam, he assumed the entire journey seemed only a flash.

They landed in front of the motel where they’d gotten a room before going to the bar, and he pulled his hands away. Sam let out a gasp and looked around frantically. Dean swore and fumbled for his door handle. 

“What the hell?” Sam managed, stammering. Opening his door, Dean leaned out and vomited onto the pavement. Castiel winced. 

Sam looked back at him. “Was that you?”

“What the fuck was that?” Dean demanded at the same time, still bent over the side of the car. 

“I flew us back to the motel,” Castiel answered, thinking it was fairly obvious. 

Sam held his hand over his stomach. “God, that felt horrible.” Coughing, Dean straightened up and glared back at Castiel. 

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said in response to Dean's expression. “I didn’t realize flying would cause such ill effects.”

“Freakin’ angels,” Dean muttered. He stumbled out of the car and Castiel followed. “Why can’t we see your wings?” he asked, still looking a little green. 

“They exist on another plane of existence. I’m afraid your eyes would burn out if I showed you my true form.” 

Dean lifted his hands. “Yeah, no, alright.”

Castiel followed him to the motel door and Sam asked, “What do you mean, ‘on another plane’?”

Dean groaned. “Sam, stow the nerdy talk.”

Castiel tried to explain, and Sam listened closely, but it was soon apparent he wasn’t getting any of it. Dean returned from the bathroom and sank down on the bed, rolling his eyes at them. Leaning against the headboard, he turned on the TV and flipped through the channels.

"We'll have to go to the coroner's tomorrow," Sam said, sitting down on the other bed and kicking off his shoes. "And visit the witnesses."

"Yeah, yup." Dean rubbed a hand over his face. "Your first wendigo hunt, Cas."

"Exciting," Castiel said, sitting down at the table. He was surprised God had let him stay this long in the past.

“You think this was God’s plan?” Sam asked him. “To have you go on hunts with us? Maybe he wanted you to help." 

Castiel doubted it, but he shrugged. “Perhaps.” The real plan, he knew, was more complicated than that. God had said he needed to learn who the Winchesters really were, if they were worth following. Castiel knew they were worth it. Coming here had only further convinced him of the fact.

But it had also made him question his actions in the future. He wished there was another way—one that didn't require him to choose sides. Maybe he could return to Heaven, but this time not obey so blindly. He could try to change the other angels’ minds, reform them from the inside. There was a chance they might forgive him if he cut off all ties to the Winchesters, though even the idea of doing so stung. Besides, he wasn't sure he would be successful. The other angels were so set in their ways.

Rubbing his eyes sleepily, Sam went into the bathroom. When the door shut behind him, Dean looked at Castiel.

“Alright, why did God send you here?” he asked and Castiel cocked his head. “And don’t give me the same bullshit answer you gave Sam. What’s the lesson you had to learn?”

“It wasn't bullshit," Castiel protested. "It was the truth. I don’t know what lesson God intended this trip to teach me. All I know is that in a few years you and Sam are crucial to Heaven’s plans, and I must figure out my place in all that transpires.”

“That’s ominous.”

“I suppose it seems that way now.” He shrugged and clasped his hands in his lap. “Everything isn’t completely terrible, though. I promise, some good comes out of my and the other angels’ interference in your and Sam’s lives.”

“Yeah, right,” Dean scoffed. 

“I’ve seen the future, Dean, I should know. Good things do happen.”

“Not to me, they don’t.” 

That sounded a little too hurt. And Castiel knew the reason why, had seen it when he took hold of Dean's soul in Hell, when he stood in front of Dean in that barn in the future. It was written plain as day on Dean’s face, etched into his soul. “You don’t think you deserve anything good?”

“No, we do,” Dean answered easily. “Sam, Dad, they’ve been through enough. They deserve a win.”

“And what about you?”

Dean held his gaze for a moment, then shrugged and looked away. “Me? I’m just some hunter, man. I don’t know why the angels give two shits about me.”

“I can promise you that you are not just 'some hunter.' You’ve helped the world. Today, you protected Natalia, protected anyone who might’ve come in contact with that chandelier. That isn’t a small thing.”

“Yeah, well. It’s my job. I don’t need a fucking medal for it.” He rubbed his neck, then dropped his hand onto his lap. “I don’t know, man. I mean, you’re cool and all, but this whole greater plan shit is freaking me out.”

“I understand.” Tinny voices came from the TV, and Dean stared at the screen, changed the channel to a show with a crowd of people cheering and clapping. 

Castiel watched him, a sudden anxiety rising in his chest. Perhaps this is what Chuck wanted to show him. Dean would always be angry at Heaven for interfering in his and Sam’s lives. And it was all too likely that Dean’s anger would always be directed at him by default because of his nature as an angel, no matter what he did to separate himself from Heaven. He remembered Dean’s tenseness the day before: _if you’d been watching us all this time, watching what my dad and Sam went through, I’d have to kick your ass._

“I’m afraid I can’t change what will occur,” he said, drawing Dean's attention. “But I will be there, in the future. Whether you want me there or not.” He gave Dean a small smile, though the mere thought of Dean not wanting to see him made his stomach lurch.

Dean nodded quickly and turned his attention back to the TV. From the bathroom came the sound of a faucet creaking on and water running. Castiel rubbed the edge of his sleeve between his finger and thumb. Beige, smooth fabric. 

As much as he wished to take care of the Winchesters, of Dean, whatever he did in the future was only a desperate attempt to fix the other angels’ mistakes. Yes, he could assist Sam and Dean, save their lives even, but was he only complicating things further? Making a bigger mess? He’d nearly gotten Dean killed in the future, then died himself.

Maybe Heaven and God did know best. He was only an angel with doubts, after all. Besides, Sam and Dean were human. One day, they would die, and then where would he be? Cut off from Heaven, alone.

But what would happen to Sam and Dean if he didn’t help in the future? They’d be forced to become the vessels of an archangel and fallen angel, forced to fight each other, for no good reason other than the angels’ need to prove themselves. All for the overarching plan. Who had made this plan anyway? Why did it need to come to pass?

Raising his head, he watched Dean, who was staring at the TV with too much of a frown on his face for the lighthearted show that was playing. The frustration Castiel sensed from him was all too familiar. Something like the feeling he’d sensed when Dean prayed to him for the first time, expressed his first sign of faith. It was that show of faith—the intimacy of Dean praying his name—that had urged him to help Dean, assist him in fighting back against Heaven’s plan.

Dean had trusted him, trusted him to do 'the right thing.' Surely that must mean something. 

Glancing over, Dean met his eyes. With a sigh, he patted the bed next to him. “Come on, I’m not gonna bite.”

Feeling torn and conflicted, Castiel sat down next to him. Last night, Dean had told him to trust his gut. He didn’t have much experience trusting anything other than his superiors and God. One thing he knew for certain, though: He didn’t have much time with this Dean before God pulled him back to his time and he’d have to make a decision.

Forcing a smile, he asked, “What is this show?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one more chapter left!! i can't believe this fic is almost done!! seeing all your reactions to every chapter has made posting every week so fun and rewarding <3


	6. Decisions

When the red numbers on the alarm clock next to the bed read 1:08am, Dean leaned forward and glanced at the bed where Sam had sat down after returning from a shower. Castiel followed his gaze and realized Sam was asleep, curled on top of the covers. 

“What a lightweight,” Dean scoffed, though his tone expressed endearment. He shut off the TV and rubbed the back of his neck. “Hey, you wanna, uh, go somewhere?” 

Castiel felt his heartbeat quicken. “Yes.” 

After Dean scribbled a note to Sam, Castiel followed him outside. “Are you sure you should drive?” he asked as Dean headed to the Impala.

Dean rolled his eyes as he pulled on his jacket. “Don’t start acting like Sam. I’m fine.”

He opened up the driver’s side door, and Castiel stepped forward. “May I…?” He held up his hand and Dean frowned at him before realization dawned on his face. 

“You can make me completely sober?”

“I would like to try.”

“You really not gonna let me drive?”

“I would offer to take the wheel, but I’m afraid you’re right that we might end up in a ditch.”

Dean let out a laugh. “Alright, fine.” He dropped his hands to his sides. “Go for it.”

His eyes fell shut as Castiel pressed two fingers to his forehead. He didn't have to touch Dean to heal him, but he liked the way it felt—his grace seeping directly from his fingertips into Dean’s skin. Perhaps he went further and healed Dean’s liver completely, fixed the scarring on his ribs from too frequent breaks. But he wanted to let his grace linger. 

Regretfully, he finally pulled his fingers away and Dean’s eyes opened slowly. “That feels… awesome.” His face reddened a little, but he held Castiel’s gaze. 

“I enjoy healing people,” Castiel said. Then, more accurately, “I enjoy healing you.”

Dean broke their gaze and grabbed the car door. “Come on, let’s go before Sam wakes up and tries to tag along.”

Castiel slid in on the passenger’s side. “I enjoy driving,” he said. Not as convenient or quick as flying, but there was a certain charm to the experience of watching the landscape pass.

“Yeah?” Dean turned the key in the ignition and the car’s engine rumbled to life. “Well, Baby’s the best way to experience it.”

“Baby?” Dean gestured to the car. “You named your car?”

“Uh, yeah.” Glancing over the backseat, he pulled out of the parking spot. “And I don’t wanna hear about it because I won’t tolerate any slander against her.”

“It—she—was your father’s car first, wasn’t she?”

“Mhm. Gave me the keys when I turned 18. Best birthday present ever.” He shrugged. “Not that that’s saying much.” With a glance at Castiel, he turned up the radio. “You know who this is?” he asked, tapping the stereo. Castiel shook his head and he said, “Led Zeppelin. You haven’t listened to real music until you’ve heard this.”

Castiel listened intently. “I like it,” he decided. 

“You better, it’s one of my favorite songs.”

“What’s it called?”

Dean smiled a little. “You gonna report all this back to God? Think this is the big lesson you gotta learn?”

“No, but I am genuinely interested. I would like to know you better.”

Dean’s eyes flitted to his, then he readjusted his grip on the steering wheel and said, “Ramble On. That’s the name of the song.”

“Ramble On,” Castiel repeated.

“Should I even ask what your favorite band or song is, or are you gonna give me some obscure answer? Some weird angel harp tune?”

“I’ve never met an angel who plays the harp. And no, I don’t think I have a favorite song. I do enjoy hearing people sing, though. It makes them very happy.”

“Like worshippy stuff? Church stuff?”

“That, and anything really. The song a mother sings to her child to lull him to sleep. The songs people make up to keep themselves amused during long car drives.”

Dean shifted, dropping one arm onto the window sill, keeping one hand on the wheel. “My mom used to sing ‘Hey Jude’ to me. When I was a kid.”

“That’s a lovely memory.”

“Yeah, well, one of the few.” He fell silent, staring ahead through the windshield. Castiel knew he was thinking about his mother’s death, and again the urge rose in him to reassure Dean. He remembered his own words the other day, his promise that if he had been aware of Dean in the past, he would’ve tried to help him. But that was an idle promise because he couldn’t change the past. The future, that he could change. If he truly wanted to help Dean, if he was brave enough, if he could figure out what to do. 

“Dean,” he said aloud, “I was thinking about what you said yesterday. About trusting my gut. I don’t know how to do that.”

Dean glanced at him. “It’s not that hard, Cas. You just do it. Trust your instincts.” 

“I’m afraid I’ve already tried that, though, and it didn’t end well.”

“Right. The whole punishment, killing thing.”

“Yes. So you can see why I’m reluctant to try trusting my own feelings again.”

“Makes sense,” Dean said. Pulling to a stop at a red light, he turned on his blinker. “Listen,” he said, looking at Castiel. “I don’t know fuck all about what’s going on in the future. But what’s the alternative? Either trust your gut, or go back to Heaven and hope the angels are feeling forgiving?”

“That is the plan at the moment.”

“I know I said family always comes first, but when they’re like yours? I mean, they killed you, for fuck’s sake.” 

“It’s more complicated than that—” Castiel started.

“Seems pretty simple to me. Seems like you’d be better off without them.”

The light turned green and the car rumbled as Dean turned to the left. “Maybe,” Castiel said, and even though he said the word quietly, it seemed too loud. His shoulders tensed at the fear that Naomi might appear now and tear through his memories, that Raphael might come and smite him. Nothing happened. Emboldened, he repeated, “Maybe you’re right.”

“Whaddya know?” Dean said. “Crazier things have happened.” He shot Castiel a grin and Castiel smiled. 

“Where are we going?” he asked. 

“Don’t know. Was just driving around.”

“Can we stop somewhere?”

“Stop where?”

“Somewhere like that park last night.”

Smiling, Dean shook his head. “Alright, angel. Your wish is my command.”

An achingly long couple of minutes passed before Dean pulled into an empty parking lot, and he’d hardly taken his hands off the wheel before Castiel surged forward and kissed him. 

“Someone’s impatient,” Dean said, smiling against his mouth. 

“I have been waiting all day, I think I am excused some impatience.” Pulling away from Dean, he climbed into the backseat. “Come on.” 

“Okay, okay.” Dean followed him. “I’ve created a monster.”

Frowning, Castiel looked up from pulling off his shoes. “Who? Me?” He straightened. “Do you not want to—”

“No, no, it was a joke, Cas. You know, because only a day ago you’d never done this before, but now you’re already pulling off your clothes…” He rolled his eyes and Castiel realized he was staring blankly at Dean. “Never mind. All these years spent observing humans and you never picked up a sense of humor?”

“I do have a sense of humor,” Castiel protested. “I know jokes in Enochian. Though, I doubt they would be funny to humans.” Dean shifted closer and Castiel looked down at him loosening his tie. “Uriel always tells one, about the staff of Moses—I’m not sure how to translate it.” He recited it in Enochian and Dean grinned, slipping the tie from Castiel’s neck.

“Ooh, Cas, talk angel to me.”

For as much as he prided himself on studying and understanding humans, he so often found himself at a complete loss with Dean. From tone, he knew enough to know Dean was teasing him, but what Dean found so amusing, he couldn’t tell. “I don’t understand you, Dean,” he said, almost desperately. “You have such a strange way of talking.”

Dean burst out laughing and despite himself, Castiel smiled, though he tried to frown at him. “You just gotta catch up, buddy,” Dean said. “Few more years on Earth, few more movies and TV shows, and you’ll be golden.”

A few more years. More time spent with Dean. Smiling, Castiel started pulling off his trenchcoat. “I would enjoy that. I enjoy being with you, Dean.”

“Aw, Cas, you flatter me.”

Castiel paused in slipping his arm out of his sleeve. “I’m serious, Dean.” 

Dean tugged at the hem of his shirt. “Less talk, more undressing.”

Since Castiel didn’t have any real objection to that suggestion, he followed suit. Still, when he had stripped off his shirt and a low simmer of heat was beginning to build in his gut from Dean’s mouth on his, Dean was the one to pull away and pause.

“Hey, uh, I got a question,” he said. A little breathless, Castiel nodded, noticing the way the moonlight from outside the car fell over Dean’s face. “I know you said we haven’t done this in the future, but you and I, we’re not even, um, we’re not even friends or anything?”

How to answer? “I don’t know what to call our relationship,” he answered truthfully. “We are learning how to work together, I think. Though sometimes… sometimes I worry you hate me.”

“Hate you?” Dean scoffed. His hand rested on Castiel’s thigh, thumb moving in slow circles. “Why? I mean, look at you.”

Castiel glanced down at himself. “What?” 

“There’s no way I hate you. You helped us with this case, you saved Sam's life. And you’ve loosened up a little. You're still kinda weird though.”

Castiel frowned. “Weird?”

Dean grinned. "I mean, a little. But I don’t think future me hates you. That is, assuming I’m not very different in the future than who I am now.”

“You are different,” Castiel said. “But you’re still you.” Still persistent, still questioning, still courageous, still beautiful. “And it’s a relief to hear you say that. Because I don’t hate future you either, though you can be very frustrating.”

“Frustrating?” Dean’s hand was heavy on his thigh. “Why, what’s that mean?”

“You’re stubborn, you get angry with me so quickly. I don’t fully understand you."

"But you want to," Dean said, less as a question than a statement.

"I want to," Castiel agreed.

Dean nodded, slowly. Moving closer, Castiel kissed him, inhaling sharply as Dean’s hand rose to his face, as Dean kissed him back, pulling him to straddle his lap. 

_Finally_ , he thought. How had he ever lived without this? His arms snaked around Dean’s neck as he opened his mouth to Dean, sucked on his tongue. The tingling of molecules on his own tongue, like the beer he’d tried. He wished he could taste him.

He’d feared that without their bond, Dean would never accept him. But the Dean with him now, he didn’t know about any of that—Hell, their bond—yet Castiel could feel the longing coming from him, see it in his eyes.

A kind of intimacy different from grasping Dean’s soul, stitching his body together, because at this moment Dean was breathing under his palms, hands roaming over his body, eyes catching his own. Instead of his solitary task, solitary awe, he knew Dean saw him, he knew Dean felt this connection too, sensed it radiating off him.

Just as before, he came in Dean’s hand, Dean in his. Still straddling Dean’s lap, he dropped his head on Dean’s shoulder with a moan. Dean’s chest rose against his, skin warm and flushed, heart beating loud and quick to match Castiel’s own. He smiled; he could get used to this. 

When his head had settled, he sat back and kissed Dean bruisingly, trying to convey all he felt. Pulling back to meet Dean’s eyes, he whispered, “Thank you.”

Dean held his gaze for a moment before laughing nervously. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I mean it.” Castiel shifted his fingers through Dean’s hair. “I never imagined it could be like this.”

In the faint light, he thought he saw Dean’s face redden, but Dean only smirked. “I get that a lot.” 

Castiel smiled a little, though he wasn’t quite sure why Dean was refusing to be serious. He slid off Dean’s lap and, leaning down, Dean grabbed his clothes. 

“You’re very peculiar, Dean,” Castiel said, watching him.

Dean didn’t make eye contact as he dropped Castiel’s shirt on the bench seat. “How so? Hey, can you do that grace thing where you zap us clean?”

Castiel touched his shoulder and Dean met his eyes. “You joke around a lot, and sometimes I’m not sure if it’s truly what you want to say.”

Dean’s face was definitely red now. “Yeah, well, I’ve never been much for pillow talk.”

Castiel frowned. “We don’t have any pillows—oh, a figure of speech.”

“Yes, Cas.” Castiel waited for him to explain and Dean sighed. “I just mean…” His eyes roamed the car, anywhere but Castiel, then he dropped his shoulders. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t know anymore because everything’s different with you.” 

Castiel’s stomach dropped. They _were_ different, he knew that. He’d thought maybe it might not matter. “Because I’m an angel?” he asked, hesitantly.

“Yeah, but more than that.” Dean glanced at him and waved his hand. “I don’t know, it’s just most people you can’t really talk to, you know? It’s just a one night thing, and then you move on. But you, you’re… you’re still here.”

Castiel’s throat tightened. He’d known this was too good to be true. “Do you not want me to be?”

His tone must've betrayed how he felt because Dean moved closer, touched his arm. “No, no, that’s why it’s different. Because I can actually talk to you. Because I want you to hang around.” He dropped his hand. “I’m not making any sense, I don’t know what I’m saying.”

Relief flooded Castiel. “No, I understand,” he said, and for once Dean was making perfect sense. “Because everything’s different for me too. I’ve never connected with a human before like this, not like with you, not like with your future self.” He’d never touched a human soul before, never looked into the green eyes of a Righteous Man who had faith in him. And could it be Dean felt equally as stunned? That though they were so different, they could have such a connection?

Dean’s eyes roamed his face as he nodded, solemn for once. Then, characteristically, a small grin crept across his face. “Anyway, what I think I meant was, I’m pretty sure being with an angel is my new kink.”

Castiel smiled. “That good, huh?”

Dean started laughing and Castiel’s smile grew. “I like you, Cas,” Dean said, through his laughter. 

The warmth in Castiel’s chest grew so strong he thought his face might be glowing. Three simple words, but they meant so much, to know Dean felt something towards him. “I like you too,” he said. 

Perhaps his tone had been too weighty, because Dean’s laughter faded, something like unease passing across his face. Castiel froze, thinking he’d said something wrong, then Dean kissed him, pushing him back against the seat, and he sighed in relief, letting Dean deepen their kiss. Would this—being with Dean, being close to him—only get better and better? Would being together feel the same with the Dean he knew in the future? A better question—would he ever get to find out? Would he ever get to feel this same companionship with the Dean he’d pulled out of Hell?

After being kissed breathless, and after more coaxing from Dean, Castiel “zapped” them clean, as Dean had put it. He didn’t need much convincing, not with the way Dean’s eyes widened and regarded him like he was something astounding. Castiel still wasn’t sure he deserved such awe, but, selfishly, he so badly wanted Dean to look at him like that forever, to always be enamored by him, not disappointed or angry. How would Dean look at him in the future, when he returned alive and whole? That, he supposed, all depended on the choice he’d make.

They resumed dressing and Dean looked out the window, rubbed his forearm. 

“What now?” Castiel asked, tugging on his pants. 

Dean glanced at him. “We can go back to the motel.”

“I don’t want to, not yet.”

“Okay,” Dean said. “You hungry? Wait, of course not. Well, I am.”

They ended up at a place called IHOP where Dean ordered waffles. Castiel studied a small folded menu on the table, glossy photos of pancakes topped with whipped cream, blueberry-spotted pancakes topped with butter.

“I don’t understand,” he said, frowning at the images. “Why didn’t we go to an international house of waffles if you wanted waffles instead of pancakes?”

Dean poured syrup over the stack on his plate. “Because there’s no Waffle House in this goddamn town. Had to settle.”

Castiel set the menu down and looked around. The sounds of sizzling and clinking of plates came from the kitchen, which he could see through a wide, narrow window behind the counter where one woman sat, talking to the waitress. He and Dean were the only other customers. 

Dean gestured to his plate with his fork. “Try some. You can’t go your whole life without trying waffles.”

“Alright.” Castiel unraveled the napkin wrapped around the set of silverware the waitress gave him. Stabbing a piece, he tried the bite and instantly grimaced at the prickling sensation in his mouth.

Dean laughed at him. “Still molecules, huh?”

“Still molecules,” Castiel sighed, setting down his fork. 

His and Dean’s reflections hung in the darkness outside the window. If he focused his eyes, he could see past their reflections to the street outside. Dean’s fork scraped his plate and Castiel watched him tap his fingers on the table, looking around the diner.

Their eyes met and they both broke into smiles at the same time. Dean shook his head, cut into his waffles. “We really haven't done anything like this, in the future?” he asked, glancing up. Castiel shook his head. “Damn, I must be a real bore.”

“No, I think you just have a lot on your mind.”

“Hmm.” Dean shoved a forkful of waffles into his mouth. “I’ve probably thought about it,” he said around the mouthful. “Future me, I mean.”

“Do you think so?”

“Dude, I know me.” He swallowed and pointed at Castiel. “Unless I got a friggin brain transplant, future me wants to fuck you, trust me.”

Well, that was information he’d have to file away for later. He watched Dean pour more syrup onto his rapidly diminishing stack of waffles. Voices and a rush of cold air that raised the hair on the back of his neck made him look up to see a couple walk into the restaurant.

“How long do you think God is gonna let you stay here?” Dean asked, pulling Castiel’s attention back to him.

The question sent another chill down his spine, but he tried to ignore the idea of his inevitable departure and shrugged. “Until I’ve learned whatever it is I am supposed to.”

“ _Have_ you learned anything?” He grinned. “You know, besides the obvious.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “I’m sure I learned a few things besides sex.” He studied Dean. “Before, when I first came here, I feared that perhaps you only trusted me in the future because of… because of forces outside both of our control. But here we are now, even without those influences. That is a relief, to know you chose to trust me. And I suppose I’ve learned that I am not as resolute as I thought I was in my decisions. Maybe I knew that already. You and Sam too, you aren’t the warriors Heaven makes you out to be.” He lifted his hand when Dean started to protest. “You both are formidable, yes, but you are only human. You aren’t weapons to be used in a fight. And I know you’re more scared than you let on.”

Dean scoffed. “I ain’t scared. I can kill anything that comes my way.”

“I don’t doubt it.” He watched Dean lick a drop of syrup off his thumb. A memory rose in his mind from the future, sitting in a hospital room, hearing the crack in Dean’s voice when he told Castiel he couldn’t go on, wasn’t strong enough. The desire to heal him, to protect him had overwhelmed Castiel, tightened his throat and stoppered any words of comfort he could have given.

“You know, Dean,” he said, trying to share them now, “it’s not a character flaw to be scared. It’s a simple human trait.”

“It’s what gets you killed in this work,” Dean said automatically, as if quoting something or someone. He glanced at Castiel as he forked a piece of waffles. “Do angels get scared?”

Automatically, Castiel started to say no, then he paused. “At times,” he admitted. The fear that had thumped in his chest as he flew through Hell in search of the Righteous Man, heard the screams of his siblings. The icy fear that ran through him when future Dean asked for his help, asked him to betray Heaven. The fear that gripped his chest and choked him as he watched Raphael approach, intent on destruction. “Yes. I have felt fear. I fear displeasing my superiors, displeasing our Father. I fear losing my human charges.”

A frown crossed Dean’s face and he gestured to himself. “Am I one of those charges? In the future?”

“Yes.” He didn’t believe that had been part of the plan. But when he had pulled Dean out of Hell, touched his soul, something had happened, some connection forged between them. He couldn’t let Dean go if he wanted to.

“Did you lose me?” Dean asked quietly, barely above the sounds of the kitchen. And Castiel didn’t need his grace to sense Dean’s fear; he could see it in his eyes. 

“No. And I won’t.” Reaching across the table, he put his hand over Dean’s. “I will stand by you, Dean, I promise, whatever that looks like. Until the end of time, I’ll protect you.” He held Dean’s gaze until Dean glanced down at their hands then around the room, pulled his hand away. 

“What happens, Cas?” he asked. 

Castiel hesitated. Instead of answering, he asked, “You and Sam, you’ve both gone through so much. What if there was a way… what if there was a way to never feel pain again?”

“How? Through dying? That’s the only way I know of.”

Castiel shrugged and Dean stared out the window, then shook his head. “That seems like a pretty steep price to pay.”

“It’s the only way. Life on Earth it’s… it’s corrupt. The angels, they believe the only way to cleanse it is through a purge.”

“Is that what’s happening in the future? You guys are trying to wipe everyone out? What, like the flood?”

“Not exactly, and not all of us,” Castiel said. “I’m not sure where I stand, not anymore.”

“Well you gotta stop them, Cas! You can’t let them kill us all!”

“You said we never do anything to help,” Castiel shot back. “You said we only watch! This is our way to help, this is the way to fix everything.”

Dean shook his head. “No, no it’s not. Yeah, my life sucks a thousand different ways, but ‘least I’m alive. ‘Least I’m not controlled by a bunch of winged dicks. You get that, right? You don’t wanna be controlled by your asshole family, you wanna be able to make your own decisions. I want that too. I don’t want my fate to be controlled by some asshats in the sky, forced to live in some fake paradise where I’m dead.”

Castiel looked away from the righteous anger in his eyes, stared at the peeling laminate table. “You said the same thing in the future,” he said quietly. 

“And I’m right, you know I am.”

Raising his head, he met Dean’s eyes again, tried, “But what about you? I don’t like seeing you and Sam hurt.”

“We’ll be fine. Made it this far.” He gave Castiel a small smile, and Castiel nodded slowly. He hoped that was true. Had to believe it was true, if he was to do what Dean was asking him to do. To abandon the plan, to let humans continue living pained, saddened lives.

It wasn’t all horrible, though, he thought. They had inside jokes and TV shows, they had diners and waffles, they had butterflies in their stomachs and the warmth swelling in his chest when Dean smiled at him.

Dean studied him, then picked up his fork again. “So, from now until 2009, what happens? I need to know who wins every sports championship from here on out, I wanna make some bets.”

Castiel smiled a little. “I don’t think I can tell you that.” So much he could tell Dean. He studied the table, the chipped rounded corners and light brown circular stains. So much he could warn him about, though Dean wouldn’t remember a word he said. He could feel Dean’s eyes on him and knew what Dean really needed at this moment weren’t insights into the future, but reassurance. Reassurance that he and Sam would truly be alright.

He met Dean’s eyes. “You don’t have to worry about the future. Sam… he has you. Always. Your love for your brother is not misplaced. Your trust in him is a special thing.” 

He thought of Ruby. _Sometimes you trust him too much._ He thought of Dean’s deal with a demon, Sam’s life for his soul. Sometimes, he supposed, there was no other way than to trust too much.

“And me?” Dean asked.

Castiel thought of Dean standing up to Zachariah, mocking Uriel, and smiled. “You continue to surprise. I cannot express how happy I am to have met you—both your future self and you. I never expected…” What? To feel this way? To feel this bond? “You are a very special human being,” he finished.

Dean picked up his mug and shrugged. “It’s been said.” Taking a drink, he set the mug on the table. “You know, you’re… You’re different than what I expected, if I had thought angels existed.”

Castiel clasped his hands in his lap. “How so?”

Dean shrugged. “Don’t know. I guess I thought you’d be all perfect and righteous—and I mean, you are sorta that. But you’re a lot more like us than anything.”

“Like humans? Like you?”

“Yeah. You’ve got family problems and you’re a lot more unsure than I woulda guessed. I mean, for being an angel.”

Castiel smiled a little. “I _am_ only an angel, Dean. I'm not all knowing. I—I have doubts.” He’d said the same thing to Dean on a park bench in the future. It felt less monumental to say it now, sitting in a diner, safe from the angels, from immediate decisions. “Perhaps once I felt sure and confident. But that was when I didn’t ever think to question Heaven and God. Then I met you. I believe you’ve rubbed off on me, Dean.”

Dean visibly fought back a grin. “Yeah, in more ways than one.”

Castiel assumed that was some kind of innuendo, the humor of which he didn’t fully understand, but Dean was amused so he smiled.

“I really impact you that much in the future?” Dean asked. Castiel nodded. “Hmm.”

Castiel was just as surprised as Dean. His mind returned to God’s words, to the purpose of his visit. Should he give up Heaven’s trust, abandon the plan? Without Heaven’s support, he would have to rely on solely the Winchesters, on humans. Up to now, he had spent his entire existence following Heaven’s plans; why was he doubting them now? 

He knew why. Dean. 

Pulling Dean out of Hell had changed him, and Castiel saw now it wasn’t just from touching Dean’s soul, though that was a factor, but simply because of who Dean was and what he stood for, and Castiel couldn’t help be in awe of him like he’d never been of any other human. Perhaps it wasn’t wise, his devotion to Dean. No it certainly wasn’t wise, not by Heaven’s standards. When had that stopped mattering to him?

After Dean paid the bill, they headed outside to the Impala. As Dean pulled his keys from his jacket pocket, Castiel looked up at the stars and that’s when he felt it. A tug. 

“Oh no,” he whispered, stopping in his tracks. 

Dean turned to look at him. “What?”

Castiel met his eyes. A pull, from the future, a loosening in his wings. “I think it’s time,” he said slowly. 

“Time for—” Dean stopped as dread and understanding spread across his face. “You have to leave?”

Castiel nodded, suddenly unable to speak. Dean looked crestfallen, then he tightened his expression and nodded, staring down at his boots.

“I don’t want to go,” Castiel managed, both to Dean and to God, if he was listening.

“Then don’t,” Dean said, meeting his eyes and stepping closer. “Stay for longer.”

Castiel shook his head. “I can’t. God will bring me back regardless.” 

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Dean looked away, and Castiel looked up at the sky. He almost prayed for more time, but then he remembered the chaos on Heaven and Earth. Remembered the Dean he had rescued from Hell who was caught in the middle of it. 

Taking a deep breath, he said, “We will meet again, Dean.” Reaching out, he touched Dean’s shoulder where, in a few years, his grace would sear into skin. Dean looked at his hand, then him. “In your darkest moment, I’ll be there. I’ll come when you need me the most.”

“Shit, Cas.” Dean let out a nervous laugh. “My darkest moment? The hell does that mean?” Castiel pulled his hand from Dean’s shoulder. “You’re freaking me out, man.” 

“You’ll be alright. Angels are watching over you. I’ll watch over you.”

Dean’s expression faltered. “I’m not gonna remember any of this, will I?” he asked slowly. Castiel shook his head and Dean muttered, “Right.” 

“I’m sorry. I wish it wasn’t this way,” and he meant that, truly. “But we’ll see each other again. Soon,” he added, both for Dean's sake and his.

He glanced at the IHOP, at the Impala, wished he could stay. It was so peaceful here. But he thought of Dean in the future, and he knew he couldn’t stay here forever. There was much to be done, decisions to be made. 

“I know what I’ve learned,” he told Dean. “I learned it from you. You told me to trust myself. To think for myself, to do what I know is right.” Dean nodded. “And you, trust yourself, Dean. You’ll do what’s best, I know you will. You are so good.” 

Dean nodded again and ducked his head. After a long moment, he took a deep breath. “Okay.” Lifting his head, he met Castiel’s eyes. “I’ll be… I’ll be waiting for you to show up again, even if I don’t know it.”

Castiel smiled, though his throat had suddenly tightened. “I can’t wait.”

“And Cas, you gotta… you gotta figure things out with future me. You have to let him know, let him see what it could be like, with you and me.”

Castiel nodded, letting his eyes travel over Dean, trying to memorize everything, studying his soul, committing to memory how it shone now. Then, his eyes pricking, he looked up at the sky and took a deep breath, preparing to tell God he was ready.

“Wait, Cas.” Stepping forward, Dean reached for him and pulled him into a hug. Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean and tucked his head into his shoulder. “I’ll miss you,” Dean said, voice muffled in his shirt. 

“I'll miss you too.” Would his own memory be erased after he made his decision? He wished he could remember this. He wished he could remember this moment, what it felt like to hold Dean in his arms. He hadn’t known he could ever feel this way towards Dean, that Dean could feel the same towards him. Would they have this in the future? Could they? Even if God took his memory of this visit, he knew he would feel this way towards Dean again. He knew he would.

“Goodbye, Dean,” he said, then he heard a rush of wind in his ears and the world spun and he was only holding air.

**•** May 14, 2009 **•**

"Well, I hope that was enlightening."

Castiel opened his eyes to find himself standing in God’s kitchen—Chuck’s kitchen. With a sinking sensation in his stomach, he looked around, confirming what he already knew. He was back in his time.

Chuck crossed his arms. “Not gonna lie, that went in a couple directions I didn’t expect. I _was_ keeping an eye on you, but I had to tune out for a little.” He made a face and Castiel reddened. “Not that I’m judging or anything. Just that was, um... interesting.”

He clapped his hands together. “So, how’d it go? Felt like one of the team? Made yourself useful? Wonder what will happen when the Winchesters don’t have any use for you anymore.” Castiel bristled and Chuck gestured to him. “I’m sure you realized just how different you are from them, if that wasn’t obvious before. Especially without that weird bond you and Dean have now. I mean, humans, they’re so short-sighted. Think they know how to best live their lives. No respect for the larger story.”

“Actually,” Castiel interrupted. “I think humans and I may have more in common than I thought.”

Chuck glowered at him. “Careful, Castiel. That story is why you even exist in the first place.” He leaned back on the kitchen counter. “Angels or humans, then. What will it be? Return to Heaven and follow your orders, or keep ‘making it up’ as you go, as you said.” He rolled his eyes. “That was a great line, I’ll give you that. Kinda wish I had written it.”

Time to make a choice. His heart beat faster as he knew what he would choose. “Be smart about this, Castiel,” Chuck added. “You can keep doing things your way, but remember how it ended for you last time. Just saying.”

Castiel took a deep breath. Chuck was right. He’d have all of Heaven against him. He didn’t know how he’d ever regain the other angels’ trust, if he ever could. But he knew where his loyalties lay. 

“I choose the Winchesters,” he said. “I choose Dean.”

**•** The End **•**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and the rest is canon history :)
> 
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> 
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> 
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